Breaking and Entering
by WolfWarrioress
Summary: Bregan D'aerthe's latest success brings a new problem, especially for a certain psionicist. KimmurielXOC
1. The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:** I apologize for any OOCness on Kimmuriel's or Jarlaxle's part. I tried very hard to keep them in character, however. I also assumed that everyone reading this would probably already know what they look like, so I didn't bother explaining it. Please R&R. It really helps.

**Disclaimer: **Everything canon belongs to R.A. Salvatore, everything else to me.

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**Chapter 1**

**The Best Laid Plans**

_Nothing made Jarlaxle happier than battle plans playing out smoothly._

_The heels of his boots clicking with every step he took and the bracelets on his arms jangling, the drow mercenary leader strode casually down the wide, marble-floored hallway, six soldiers at his back._

_Infiltrating the High Palace crowning the city of Armadan had proved far too easy, such that no one outside its walls-and a few inside-would even notice until morning, and by then his task would be complete._

_As he reached the end of the hallway, the two drow who had replaced the chamber's original guards turned and pushed the large, ornately carved gilded doors inward. Without breaking his stride, Jarlaxle entered the room, a genuine smile spreading across his face at the sight that greeted him._

_This was the throne room, with floors of the same polished marble, thick tapestries adorning the walls, and the throne in the center of the floor and three steps up. His warriors had made short work of the guards stationed in here, their bodies strewn about, some unconscious, and others sleeping more permanently._

_Before the throne, oblivious to the killers standing all around her and standing defiantly with her shoulders straight and chin up was the Lady Serenade, the freshly crowned queen and the one who had broken her mother's trade agreement with Triel Baenre, Bregan D'aerthe's employer this evening. Behind her, looking much more unsettled by their captors, were her ladies-in-waiting, dressed as the queen was, in nightgowns and robes._

_"Your Highness," Jarlaxle greeted, stopping before her and bowing low from his waist, sweeping his great, plumed hat off._

_"You must be the famed Jarlaxle," she returned, face blank of emotion._

_The drow looked up from under his brows with a one-sided grin. "I see my reputation precedes me," he said as he straightened with a flourish and replaced his hat._

_She smirked. "Yes, I've heard of the untrustworthy cutthroat called Jarlaxle," she replied. "Why are you here?"_

_"I'm sure you know the answer to that, my dear," Jarlaxle said, businesslike._

_"I haven't the faintest idea," Serenade said, hostility obvious beneath her calm tone._

_"Well then, allow me to enlighten you," the rogue drow said, beginning to circle to the left, gesturing broadly with his hands. "Now, you've been the ruler of this magnificent city for—I believe four tendays now?"_

_"Three."_

_"Ah, three. And already you have managed to anger one of the most powerful rulers in Faerun. Do you still not know why I am here?"_

_She fidgeted and swallowed, unable to hold his gaze. Jarlaxle glanced to his right, where Kimmuriel Oblodra stood casually beside the throne, and exchanged a glance with his lieutenant._

_"Well, perhaps your human memory needs more jogging, then. Do you remember a certain pact you broke between your city and Matron Triel Baenre?"_

_"My mother was wrong to make that treaty!" the words exploded out of the queen, and Jarlaxle began walking back to the right, nodding, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Dealing with dark elves brings nothing but regret, as this encounter proves. This is my reign now, and I will choose who my cities allies itself with. It is my right."_

_"Only as long as it does not stand between the drow and what they desire," Jarlaxle told her, his tone that of a teacher correcting a student. "I truly think you should rethink your last statement, considering my soldiers are more than eager to wreak havoc on your citizens should I merely give the word."_

_"What?" the queen cried, aghast. "No, they are innocent civilians, they—"_

_Jalaxle interrupted her. "So you would reinstate your contract with Triel Baenre?"_

_The queen froze, clearly torn, and the room fell silent without their conversation, the others present watching with interest._

_And then the tension was torn down the center._

_Jarlaxle's sharp eyes snapped to a movement emerging from the rear of the ladies-in-waiting, then a figure in a dark clothes rushed forward. The mercenary leader caught sight of a flashing knife as the unexpected, leaping defender lunged for the nearest drow, who happened to be Kimmuriel Oblodra._

_The room dissolved in chaos, the human women shrieking and stumbling away, the drow soldiers coming to life and drawing blades to crush the resistance._

_Had it been anyone but a drow, the victim would not have escaped unscathed. However, fast as any human may have been, a dark elf, even caught unaware, was still faster. Kimmuriel whirled, throwing up a kinetic shield that stopped the knife cold mid-swing. Relentless, the attacker drew back and spun a full circle to attack Kimmuriel from the other side. The drow stepped back, allowing himself time to whip his own blade out and parry the strike, before following with several of his own blows, driving the attacker back under his superior strength, before locking the two blades and dragging his attacker to him, his free hand finding a slender wrist and applying a bone crushing grip until the dagger dropped to the floor._

_The woman writhed in his grasp, twisting and yanking, but Kimmuriel held fast as two soldiers stepped round him and seized her arms tightly. The psionicist turned to face Jarlaxle, oblivious to her struggles._

_Jarlaxle chuckled, having been the only one in the room to not move, simply watching, relaxed, throughout the drama. "Well now, who is this?" he asked, strolling forward to look down at her. "She branishes a knife as if she knows how to use it. What is your name, warrioress?"_

_The woman's lips remained pursed, her eyes staring over his shoulder, and Jarlaxle laughed. "My, such stubborn women your city breeds, Highness. Kimmuriel?"_

_Knowing what he wanted, his lieutenant focused on the captive, who glared and tried to squirm away, but Kimmuriel answered Jarlaxle's question a moment later. "Nadina Namieh, Jarlaxle. Specially trained to defend the queen from those who wish to harm her."_

_Jarlaxle chuckled again. "A cousin to the queen! Who could waste such a jewel by training her as a killer? Surely she among the most exquisite beauties I have seen on the surface—besides yourself, of course, Highness." Jarlaxle captured her chin and turned her face to catch the light. A look that Kimmuriel did not like spread across the mercenary leader's face._

_It was true, the young woman—compared to other surface females, at least—was better looking than most. She possessed dark, lustrous hair that had fallen out of the leather thong meant to keep it out of her face and tumbled across her shoulders. Her eyes were as dark as her hair and looked out of a carefully crafted face, delicate yet with a fierceness hidden behind it, above a dainty mouth with a fuller bottom lip._

_Jarlaxle released her and stepped back to address the queen again. "It seems to be taking you quite a while to reach a decision, my lady. Therefore," he continued quickly, as she moved to speak, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge interest." He turned and grinned at the captive woman held between the two drow, and the queen started._

_"What? No, you can't—"_

_"Can't I?" Jarlaxle challenged. "Who can destroy your city?"_

_The queen fell silent, her eyes seeking Nadina's._

_"Accept the offer, my lady," the younger woman urged, her quiet voice carrying in the still room, returning the queen's gaze with resolve. "Better just me, than our people."_

_The queen shook her head helplessly, whether refusing or not accepting, the onlookers weren't sure._

_"Think of it as adhering to an old custom," Jarlaxle said cheerfully. "Have not humans used marriages to seal alliances for ages?"_

_Serenade closed her eyes in defeat, then nodded. "I…Alright. I will reinstate the treaty with the drow."_

_Jarlaxle grinned. "I knew you would see the situation from my point of view." He produced a scroll and quill. "Then, Highness, if you would simply sign…? Kimmuriel? Would you be so kind as to escort our guest out of here and begin the recall?"_

_The drow lieutenant gave a curt nod and turned to the door, his captive attacker being herded by her guards behind him, the rest of the drow falling into line except for the six that had arrived with Jarlaxle._

_The last thing Nadina saw was the queen's distressed face growing smaller behind her and Jarlaxle's leering grin beneath it._

XXXXX

Nadina jerked awake with a gasp, bolting upright. Panting, her wide eyes searched the gloom, confused, until she remembered the events in the throne room.

Oh. It hadn't been a nightmare.

With a moan, she glanced nervously around the small room, almost feeling that unbroken stone walls closing in on her, suffocating her. Wrenching her mind away from such thoughts with her teeth gritted, Nadina forced her attention elsewhere.

Her heartbeat finally began to slow. She was lying on her back—now propped up on her elbows—in a simple bed. The stone walls were empty, the only light spilling from a single candle left on the table to the right of the bed which was barely bright enough to light the farthest corners of the room. Also to her right was the door. As her eyes settled on the only break in the seamless gray of the walls, the portal swung inward, opening to reveal two drow faces, only their white hair and a vague outline of their lithe bodies visible in the scant light.

The human sat up completely, instantly wary, swinging her legs over one side of the bed as both soldiers started towards her. She swallowed but attempted to keep the anxiety and fear she felt building in her chest off her face. Without speaking, each elf grabbed an arm with one hand and dragged her to her feet, starting towards the door before she could get her legs under her properly, leaving her scrambling to keep up.

The corridor they led her down was even darker than the room, with nothing lighting it, and she was completely dependent on the drow to guide her. That didn't stop her from struggling every few steps, however, trying in vain to wrench her arms out of their iron grip. Even if she could free herself, she doubted she would make it far in the dark, but even that small victory would give her a chance in the future.

XXXXX

"Why did you bring the human woman with us?"

Jarlaxle turned from depositing his cloak over the back of a chair to glance at Kimmuriel, debating how to answer him. "She has obvious fighting skills," the mercenary leader finally replied, looking back at the table.

"So you mean to bring her into our ranks?" It won't be the first time Jarlaxle had invited a human to join them, but not a female.

"Eventually, perhaps."

"Do you truly mean to marry her?" His lieutenant's voice was slightly strained. The idea of being bound to a human repulsed him, but Jarlaxle was known for having unique and different tastes. Jarlaxle grinned, his face hidden.

"Oh, she's not for me, Kimmuriel," he answered slyly. He could sense his lieutenant's unease at that statement, and turned around, despite his cat-like grin, wishing to see Kimmuriel's face with his own eyes. "I myself am too easily bored to stay with one partner for too long, if you catch my meaning. And, busy as I am managing our affairs, I hardly have the time to deal with an unwilling human," Jarlaxle began melodramatically. "This tender surface creature we've dragged into the bowels of the earth needs someone a bit steadier to keep an eye on her and guard her. And teach her the ways of the drow...something you have plenty of experience in. "

Kimmuriel schooled his face blank, oblivious to the innuendo, but Jarlaxle still saw the dread growing inside him. "But, of course," the mercenary leader continued nonchalantly, "I can't just give her to _any_ common soldier. Hence…the human is yours. After all, she seemed so taken with you back in the throne room. Practically threw herself at you." He laughed at his own joke.

Kimmuriel was not amused. "Jarlaxle, I have neither desire nor need for her."

"Don't you? How long has it been since you last saw a female privately, Kimmuriel?"

His lieutenant ignored the question, knowing Jarlaxle knew the answer. "She's a human, Jarlaxle, _ibilith_. Doesn't even look like us."

"That can be fixed," the other drow said, holding up a finger to forestall anymore arguments. "And here she is now," he added more loudly, looking towards the door at the other end of the room, and Kimmuriel turned to see the human thrown into the room by her escorts, who immediately released her and stepped back out of the room, leaving her shoving on the door.

"Do join us, Nadina," Jarlaxle called, beckoning with a hand. The woman glanced at the door, then started towards them with trepidation.

Because of the candle on the table, Nadina was able to see the two drow as she moved across the room, albeit barely. She sent a hardened look in Jarlaxle's direction, and he merely grinned.

"Don't look so upset to see me, my dear," the mercenary leader said, taking her chin gently. "It's unbecoming on your pretty face. Besides, you yourself chose to come here with us to save your people. Rather a brave thing to do. Or naive, depending on your point of view."

"Just get it over with," she demanded hostilely. "What do you want me to do?"

Jarlaxle released his hold. "I used the word 'marry' because that is what you and your queen were familiar with, but we drow have no such practice. Still, you are not to be passed around my soldiers. My travels have brought me into contact with many different sorts of magic, so we can replicate such a bond here." He retrieved something from the table and turned back to her, holding a goblet in one hand, which he made a show of presenting to her. "Drink it all, if you please."

She took the goblet carefully, holding it delicately, as if it would break, sniffing the dark liquid. "What is it?"

"It will allow you to see using infrared vision, as we do," Jarlaxle answered patiently. "You will hardly be useful if you cannot see what you are doing." Throwing him a warily glance, unsure if that line contained any innuendo, Nadina looked into the goblet again. He could be lying to her, but being able to see in the dark would certainly assist in her escape. Deciding that since he had gone to such great lengths to drag her down here it would be illogical for him to give her something deadly, the human emptied the contents of the goblet, forcing herself to swallow before handing it back to the drow, who simply produced another. "Now this one."

Nadina took the goblet. "What's this one do?" she demanded, annoyed.

Jarlaxle caught a strand of her hair, though she immediately jerked away. "White skin and dark hair simply isn't as attractive as dark skin and white hair," he explained bluntly. "Drink it."

She thrust the goblet back into his hands, turning to run, but Kimmuriel reacted instantly, catching hold of her arm and pulling her back to face the other drow. "No!"

Jarlaxle caught the goblet and glanced at his lieutenant. "Thank you, Kimmuriel. Now, Nadina. I give you one last chance to retain your dignity and drink this yourself. If not," he nodded to Kimmuriel, "we tip your head back and shove it down your throat. Your choice."

Nadina swallowed, glancing at the goblet Jarlaxle offered, trying to make herself reach for it. The thought of her white skin turning black sickened her. It would be as if she was becoming one of them, corrupt and twisted. She shook her head hopelessly. Jarlaxle glanced at Kimmuriel and gave a subtle nod.

The other drow had no desire to be close to her, but he didn't let that show as he dragged her strangely limp form back against himself. It was impossible to talk Jarlaxle out of one of his schemes once they got into his head, so he might as well get used to being around her. Besides, humans lived much shorter lives than drow, and Jarlaxle was correct in saying that he had not coupled with a woman recently. Perhaps, with her skin a different color, however…

He pulled his attention back to the task at hand and crossed one arm in front of her torso, his other hand landing on her forehead and pulling her head back, so the he saw her dark eyes looking up at him before she closed them.

"You'll still be human," Jarlaxle soothed, taking hold of her chin again, pulling her mouth open and pouring the contents into her mouth, his hand clamping over her nose and mouth until she swallowed. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, stepping back to set the second goblet beside the first. Kimmuriel stepped back as well, and she lifted a hand to wipe her mouth, bowing her head.

"Now then," Jarlaxle continued as if nothing had happened, turning back to face them, a thin silken silver cord held lightly in his hands. "We have one last task. Your hand, please, Nadina."

The human thrust her left hand at him, turning her face away and closing her eyes again, letting Jarlaxle lead her to the table and press her palm down against its surface.

"Kimmuriel?"

Nadina numbly registered that this was the first time she had heard the other drow's name. She didn't move or open her eyes as she felt him come to stand behind her again, laying his hand over hers. It didn't matter which one of them she was bound to, they were still drow. She felt the string Jarlaxle had been holding draw tight around her ring finger twice. With a quick incantation, Jarlaxle tapped it, and the string sank into their fingers and disappeared, leaving only smooth white lines on the skin.

Kimmuriel removed his hand, and his warmth left her back. Nadina opened her eyes then, forced to blink back tears, to her anger and shame. She clenched her hands into fists, oblivious to Jarlaxle's chuckle. She was aware of him blowing out the candle, then her head swam and her knees buckled.

XXXXX

Jarlaxle caught the human as she fell unconscious suddenly, his potions finally taking affect. "Excellent timing," he commented to Kimmuriel. "Now you can take her securely to your rooms without the threat of her attempting to escape. Congratulations, old friend."

The other drow made no acknowledgement, but he stepped forward and easily gathered the slender form in his arms, an arm behind her back and one under her legs. He paused only long enough to throw Jarlaxle an unhappy look, then he turned and carried her out the door.

Jarlaxle grinned broadly as the door shut behind his lieutenant, pleased with the circumstances. Nothing made Jarlaxle happier than causing chaos.


	2. Acceptance

**Author's Note:** And the story continues in chapter 2. This was a really fast update; I'm afraid I can't guarantee that updates will continue coming this quickly. I would love that, but I don't know that it will happen. I do have a bit of chapter 3 done already, though. I was going to hold off posting this chapter until Thursday, but since I finished it-actually, I wrote it on Friday, then ripped out the second half and completely rewrote it on Sunday-I decided I might as well post. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it. If anyone has any requests/suggestions/ideas for places to take this story, feel free to let me know, and I'll try my best to work it in.

**Disclaimer:** Nadina Nemiah is my original character. Everything else belongs to R.A. Salvatore.

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**Chapter 2**

**Acceptance**

The next time Nadina awoke, it was a slow, easy, natural awakening. It was, however, reminiscent of the previous time she had woken from a sound sleep in that she was once again confused regarding her whereabouts. She was lying on her left side in a considerably more comfortable bed, but how she had gotten here, she could not remember. Slowly, she sat up, supporting herself on her left hand.

This was not the room she had occupied the last time she had been unconscious. This room was larger, and though the stone walls remained bare, it was a far cry from the sparsely furnished first room. The area was clearly lived in, but it was not filled with anything save necessities and few personal affects, nothing that identified the owner. It seemed the type of room that belonged to a person who did not rely on objects to remember the past, or did not easily form emotional attachments to anything.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress, a brush with the cold stone floor made her aware that she was barefoot. Looking around the room from her higher vantage point, she spotted her cloak and boots beside a table. Odd that she could see so well, but there was no evidence of any light sources. That was when she noticed the white lines around her left ring finger. Before, she had barely been able to see the lines. Now, they stood out boldly, as if they had gotten brighter, or…

Or her skin had gotten darker.

Startled, Nadina leaped to her feet, splaying her hands in front of her, sliding one sleeve up her arm. Frantic, she reached back and pulled a lock of her hair forward.

It was pure white, contrasting dramatically with the darkness of her hands.

Breathing deeply, Nadina simply stood staring at it until the ache in her feet from the cold floor grew too great to ignore, and she slowly sat back down on the bed, pulling her feet up. Clearly, Jarlaxle's potion had worked while she had been unconscious. Almost not daring for fear of the answer, she reached her hands up to the sides of her head, pushing the hair aside until she could trace her fingertips over the tops of her ears, exhaling in relief when she found they remained rounded. She was still human, despite her skin and hair color.

And that explained why she could see, even with the distinct lack of candles. Nadina grinned. She was no longer a prisoner in the dark. With eyesight, and the perfect disguise, she could easily slip through the drow ranks unnoticed and make her escape. It was almost too easy. Was Jarlaxle such a fool that he could not see that?

But what would she do on the surface?

Her heart sank again. Even if she could find her way out of this black tomb, the people on the surface would never believe her story. They would see her only as a drow temptress to disarm them, perhaps the vanguard of a larger attack. They would hunt her down and kill her, and she had no way of reversing the effects of the potion, or any idea of how long it would last.

Perhaps the mercenary leader was not as foolish as she had previously thought. He had managed to singlehandedly ensure that she would not try to escape, to make her completely dependent on the drow to survive. Her fate was tied to them in a hopelessly tangled knot. She was now completely at their mercy, subject to any whim. Despite her training, she knew that she could never survive the Underdark alone for long.

Nadina traced a fingertip over and over the lines on her skin as she thought, staring across the room at the far wall, but the mindless activity did nothing to help her find the answer. Every way she looked at the circumstances and every angle she considered, she was trapped, for whatever reason Jarlaxle wanted her here.

And while she had no idea what that reason might be, she doubted she would like it.

But she refused to give up that easily. Nadina rose from her seat on the edge of the bed, stepping quickly across the freezing floor on tiptoe to her boots and slipping into them. For good measure, she drew her cloak around her as well, relishing in the familiarity of her own clothing—the only things she now owned, she realized.

Partly to take her mind off such despairing thoughts and partly out of her own curiosity, Nadina began exploring the contents of the room. The first thing she did was find the door, though it was, unsurprisingly, locked. There was truly nothing in the room in the way of personal belongings, but nearly every storage space was neatly filled with books, and several sat on the desk, pages marked, amid neatly scribbled notes and papers. Nadina picked one up, but it was written in drow, and she could not read it. As she returned it to its' spot, she heard a noise outside the door, and she froze, straining her ears.

Someone was unlocking the door.

Without thinking, her training to fight back kicking in, Nadina whirled, grabbing the nearest item—a wide book with a two inch high binding—and pressed her back against the wall beside the door, heart hammering in her chest. She would have to time this perfectly, to catch the entering person off guard, but she would need a split second to judge his height…

Kimmuriel jerked back instinctively before he even registered the object flying at his face, feeling something graze his cheek as he did so. Raising a hand, he formed a barrier to protect himself, then shouldered the door to his quarters open.

His guest flew at him again, attacking, and Kimmuriel shot his other hand forward, a wave of invisible psionic energy catching her in the chest and throwing her back, where the weight of the item she held caused her to stumble and sprawl on her back.

Taking the moment's reprieve, Kimmuriel turned to shut and lock the door, standing sideways so that she would not catch him off guard again. His blast and the fall appeared to have knocked the breath out of her for a moment. The drow spared a glance for her, then stepped over her prone form and picked up the object she'd swung at his head—a book—and set it back on the table. He turned and opened a cabinet on the wall, removing a small container before twisting the top off and smoothing a fingertip of the paste over the bleeding cut on his cheek, then replacing it and facing her again.

The human sat up slowly as he worked, supporting her weight on her hands, watching him. Kimmuriel had not seen her since the potion had done its magic, and now he found her almost unrecognizable, the red of infrared vision coming from her eyes. He would have to tread a bit more warily around her in the future. Not that Kimmuriel considered her a threat, but he had not been the only surviving member of his house because of luck—it was caution and preparation that had kept him alive this long. Again, he wondered exactly what Jarlaxle wished to accomplish by this.

Looking away as he looked at her, Nadina climbed back to her feet, straightening her robes and shoulders. In truth, his gaze intimidated her, but she refused to show weakness before a member of such a merciless race. And the casual way he dealt with her attack infuriated her, for some reason. Nadina was not known for easily becoming angered, but perhaps the stress of the situation, combined with fear, uncertainty, and despair, pushed her to the breaking point.

Nadina dove for the book again, and came up swinging. The drow ducked under her strike, and she quickly twisted to prevent him from grabbing her, and launched the book at him. Kimmuriel turned to the side and caught it easily, setting it back on the table. He spun back to her to catch a pillow in his face, which, while it did not hurt him, confused, surprised and disoriented him. He tore the object away from his eyes and searched for her. The scrap of wood on stone from over his shoulder was the only warning he had, and Kimmuriel dove forward into a roll, feeling the chair breeze past his back. The maneuver left him crouched beside the bed. Keeping his head down, he didn't need to reach out with his mind to know where she was—the rattling of the door gave her position away.

Calmly, Kimmuriel rose to his full height, and she whirled to face him. The drow leaped, using his innate levitation abilities to launch himself over the bed. She moved as soon as he did, diving at the table. She jerked another chair up between them, denying him a grip on her, and dashed away, leaving him to drop the furniture to one side and scramble after her towards his desk.

Nadina's frantic hands found another book, and she turned and threw it without a second thought. The drow held out a hand, and it bounced harmlessly off the seemingly empty air. What sort of spell did he kept casting? she wondered in frustration, but had no time to dwell on it, turning to grab another book as the dark elf lunged towards her.

Nadina turned to hurl it and flinched, biting back a scream, not expecting her adversary to be so close to her.

Kimmuriel grabbed the book as she turned back to him and ripped it from her grasp, his patience used up, though outwardly his face remained blank, only his jaw taught. He dropped the book and seized both of her wrists in a bone crushing grip to prevent her from finding anymore possible weapons, but she continued thrashing frantically. His superior strength and height logically proved that fighting his hold would be in vain, but logic seemed to be the last thing on her mind at the moment.

"Stop this idiocy," he ordered, struggling to still her movements, but she didn't seem to hear him. With a swift manuver—perhaps _slightly_ rougher than he intended, but only _slightly_—Kimmuriel shoved her back against the desk, pressing himself flush against her in an effort to keep her still. "Stop this," he growled a bit louder.

The human's eyes widened fearfully, and she bent over backwards, desperate to escape him. Kimmuriel's eyes widened slightly as the movement sent her hips into his, but he regained his composure quickly, drawing his mind away from such thoughts. He kept a firm grip on her wrists, holding her gaze with one that clearly told her she would not like to consequences if she continued to resist.

Nadina swallowed as his eyes pierced hers before looking away, the intensity in his gaze once again overwhelming her. With a deep breath through her nose, she forced herself to still her fighting, though her shoulders and frame were still tense, trembling with nervous energy.

Kimmuriel drew a deep breath as well, and took a miniscule step back, partly to reward her for complying, but mostly because with the close proximity of their bodies, her quivering was very noticeably felt throughout his lower regions.

"What were you trying to do?" he asked, once again having to force his thoughts back to the situation at hand.

Nadina looked up at his quiet voice—quiet, but in no way gentle or reassuring. It was the voice of a killer, calm, steady, cold.

"That should be obvious," Nadina answered, her fear provoking a defensive, snappy response.

"And where exactly did you plan on going had you gotten past me?" The lack of emotion in his tone was almost worse than if he had been ranting and raving at her. It unsettled and unnerved her.

"Anywhere away from you drow," she retorted.

"I fail to see the logic in that. You would not survive a day alone in the Underdark."

Nadina could find no answer for that, having already reached the same conclusion, so she kept her lips pressed together, though she looked everywhere but at him. After a moment of watching her, Kimmuriel gave an almost impeccable nod of satisfaction that she understood her delicate situation.

"Knowing that without us you will not survive, is it therefore logical to attack the person responsible for caring for you?"

Nadina went to glare at him, but her resolve dissolved as soon as their eyes met, and she looked to her right, studying the floor. Kimmuriel shifted himself backwards, then straightened her out of her backwards bend by pulling her wrists towards him. Nadina glanced up at him in surprise, then down at her hands, noticing how close together their bodies were for the first time. She swallowed again.

It was a strange thing to look at her hands, and his, and see no dramatic difference between the two. His were slightly larger, with slightly rougher palms and shorter nails, and certainly they possessed more strength, but with hers now the same ebony shade, she could not find them so foreign. His were slenderer than a human man's hands, for he was of elven heritage, but there was no denying their masculinity.

Suddenly she realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Perhaps I would prefer the fate that awaits me out there to being locked up with the creatures who stole me from everything I love for the rest of my life," she snapped with far more bravado and daring than she felt.

The look he gave her assured her that he could see right through her guise. "Or perhaps you need more persuasion," he replied. "Therefore, I assure you that if you try to escape again, the people of your city will suffer the consequences."

Nadina pursed her lips as she registered his words. Jarlaxle was the leader of the mercenary band, and technically only he could order such a thing—but she had no way of knowing if this was his rule, or if Kimmuriel had enough power within the band to make such a thing reality.

"I see," she murmured quietly, bowing her head in defeat. She could not take the risk, either way. The guilt would haunt her for the rest of her life.

To her surprise, the drow loosened his hold on her wrists, then surrendered them back to her, though he didn't move away. She drew her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists tentatively. Almost if he was daring her to try something, the drow slowly took a step back, then stepped to her right, up to his desk. She turned with him, watching as he straightened the objects she had upset in her quest for a weapon, slowly relaxing as it seemed he was content that he had made his point. He glanced at her as she leaned a hip on the desk, then returned to his tidying. The done, he opened a book and began paging through it. Without his eyes on her, Nadina found herself able to look over his figure, side on.

She had already known he was taller than her despite her own advantageous height, but now she realized that he was only a half a head taller than her. It was simply his stature and the way he carried himself that made him seem larger, more intimidating. Despite the loose clothes and cloak he wore, it was obvious that his form was slender and slim, but in no way feminine, simply lithe and powerful. The profile of his face captured her. It wasn't that he was overly handsome—though she _would_ admit that he was attractive—but the sharp, exoticness of his chiseled features were like nothing she had ever seen before.

Nadina pulled her eyes away, looking down and tracing a finger over the white lines on her skin again—an action quickly turning into a nervous habit, she noticed with a wince. She folded her hands together in an attempt to prevent herself from doing so unconsciously. A movement drew her eyes back up to the drow, who had closed the book and turned to look at her again.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. The words prompted a shocked start from her, though his tone of voice was the same as before. He was not offering out of the kindness of his heart, but out of a responsibility to keep her alive, the way a pet or beast of burden was fed. Regardless, she nodded, having not realized how hungry she was until he asked.

"Stay here," the drow instructed, a firm note in his voice, "and I'll return soon." Without another word or gesture, Kimmuriel crossed back to the door and opened it, exiting smoothly before closing it behind him. Nadina heard the lock turn, and she was alone again, staring at the door. She remained there for a few moments, then, looking around, felt her face heat slightly as she suddenly noticed the condition of the room, embarrassed that she had allowed herself to react so violently. Such a loss of control was unusual for her.

Then again, this entire situation was unusual.

More for something to do than out of respect for the room's owner, Nadina set about righting the living space, returning the chairs and books and other articles she had knocked over to their proper places. That done, she returned to the table and seated herself in a chair facing the door.

It was almost an hour before Kimmuriel returned again, but she knew better than to try the same attack twice. He would be expecting it, and she could not hazard retribution on her city. She was still sitting in the chair, arms wrapped around her knees, when she felt a strange tingle in the back of her head that caused her to sit up. It was promptly forgotten as she heard the lock turning and the door opened. Nadina stood up, but remained where she was as the dark elf entered and closed the door, easily balancing a book and plate of food with an effortless she had to admire. He came towards her, setting the book and plate on the table. With a glance at her, he slid the plate towards the chair she had been sitting in, then stepped around her and over to his desk, where he sat down himself.

Nadina watched him, then reseated herself and surveyed the food. While it appeared different than her accustomed fare, she chose to ignore questioning the contents of her meal and simply satisfy her hunger. The smells filling her nose argued against delaying consuming the meal anyway.

Her hands going through the thoughtless actions of feeding herself, Nadina took a moment to wonder what was happening on the surface. Would they try to find her? She hoped not, any battle between drow and humans would result only in a massacre—and it would not be drow bodies littering the caverns.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since she had found herself in the stone room she had woken up in that—morning? How did one tell time down here, without the sun? How many days had already passed while she was buried in this black tomb? Unbidden, tears rose in her eyes, but she blinked them away before any could fall. The unhappy thought caused her to set her food down, however, and she slid the plate away from her.

A movement drew her attention, and she turned to find Kimmuriel had removed his cloak, scant armor, and was stepping out of his boots, leaving him only in a loose shirt and trousers. She blinked, previous thoughts fading from her mind. The drow twisted to look at her.

"Come here."

Confused and wary, Nadina did as instructed, rising and slowly stepping over to where he stood. He looked her up and down. "Is that how you intend to sleep?"

Nadina looked down at herself, then stepped back, turning away from him nervously as she unbuckled her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair. Removing her belt, Nadina tugged the tunic she wore over her shirt over her head and set it with her cloak. She stepped out of her boots, trying to hide the discomfort caused from the cold floors as she faced him again.

She spoke to break the heavy silence. "I'll not share a bed with you."

"Then where do you propose to sleep?"

Nadina looked around. She had no qualms about sleeping on the floor—she had done so before—but she doubted her cloak, being a thinner summer one, would ward off the cold. The drow stepped towards her, and Nadina jerked back.

"What are you doing?" she demanded apprehensively.

"Do you truly think I am going to leave you unattended while I rest?" he inquired. "Think of your city."

Nadina backed further away from him, her back pressing against the table, but his words stopped her from hurrying around it. Kimmuriel held his position for a moment, then he advanced. "You will make your stay here much more pleasurable for both of us if you listen to what I say," he told her calmly in that quiet voice. Nadina turned her face to the right, once again unnerved and intimidated by the strength of his gaze. She watched his feet move closer out of the corner of her eye, and nimble fingers were laid across her forehead. She leaned away, not in an attempt to escape, but simply to delay the inevitable.

"I'll wake you in the morning," were the last words she heard.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel caught the human by her shoulders as he used his psionics to knock her unconscious, preventing her limp form from collapsing to the floor. He stood there for a moment, studying her still profile. Now that her human paleness had been replaced with the inkiness of his own drow ancestry, it was easier for him to admire the delicate, feminine features of her face. The drow studied her closely, then pulled her to him and lifted the human in the fashion he had before, carrying her to the bed and placing her in it. She was what he had expected from a human, but she was not one to let emotions govern her, as he had known even some dark elves to do. She reasoned things out, she calculated odds, she thought things through, she considered all angles. He could respect that. Wits were needed to survive the Underdark as much as brawns were. He looked down at her before moving to the bed's other side and lying down himself, rolling onto his back. It wasn't long before he slept too.


	3. Understandings

**Author's Note:** And here's the third chapter. I'm not sure how long this story is going to end up being, but I've ideas for a few more chapters, at least. Please keep reviewing and let me know what you think, it's great encouragment to keep writing and I enjoy constructive criticism. Once again, I apologize for any OOC-ness.

**Disclaimer:** Nadina Namieh is mine, everything else is R.A. Salvatore's.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Understandings**

Centuries of disciplined life had ensured that Kimmuriel had developed an incredibly accurate internal clock. At precisely the same brightness of Narbondel as always, the psionicist woke from his usual dreamless sleep, instantly fully aware and coherent. He sat up slowly, the bedclothes gathering around his waist. His hand brushed something that was not his sheets or pillows, and the drow looked down, remembering.

His human guest still slept beside him, curled on her right side, soft lips barely parted as she breathed. Kimmuriel watched her for a moment, then turned away and stood up, busying himself with dressing. As one of Jarlaxle's lieutenants, he had a list of several tasks to handle, everything from their supply inventories to job requests to dissuading Jarlaxle from expanding to the surface for as long as possible.

Was that why he was so keen on bringing this human into the darkness with them?

XXXXX

Nadina woke from an ageless sleep to dexterous fingers against her brow, and she was momentarily disoriented, wondering if she was still pressed up against the table, waiting for him to send her unconscious. Her eyes flashed open, showing her a pillow and part of the room from a horizontal position, and she realized she had already been asleep.

The warmth left her forehead, and Nadina rolled onto her back to watch the drow—already fully clothed—cross the room to retrieve something from the desk, then he went to the door, opened it, and was gone.

Nadina's heart sank. Though she instantly spotted a plate of food awaiting her on the table, she was not looking forward to spending endless hours doing nothing in this hole in the ground, which was gradually feeling more and more like a prison. That gave her pause. Did she want to spend the entire day in his presence? No, she assured herself, she merely wanted a distraction from the endless boredom.

She ate her breakfast slowly, enjoying it, but trying her best to delay the inevitable. Eventually, however, the plate was clean, and her hands were empty. Sitting at the table, she looked around the room, considering her options. There simply were none. Bitterly, she thought of all the tasks she had left undone on the surface, having had no time for them then.

She spent the next two hours further exploring the room before taking to pacing, deep in thought. It was this activity she was engaged in when her drow subjugator returned, and she jumped upon hearing the lock turning.

"If you leave me alone in this room like that every day, it will not be long before I go mad," she informed him irritably, marching across the room towards him, though careful to keep a good distance away.

Kimmuriel turned to face her. "Being outside of this room is not a safe place for you," he said simply.

"Danger is not foreign to me," Nadina replied, unconsciously lifting her chin. "I'm used to being active, not sitting around counting cracks in the wall."

Without responding, Kimmuriel walked past her and back over to his desk. Infuriated that he ignored her, Nadina whirled to follow him. She didn't get further than a step, however, her foot catching on a chair leg and tripping her to the ground.

The drow turned around at the commotion as the woman rose with a grunt, her hand traveling to her chin, finding warm, sticky wetness there. Muttering curses, she sat back, glaring at Kimmuriel when he knelt in front of her.

"Don't touch me," she growled, using the table to pull herself to her feet. He rose with her.

"You are bleeding. This will heal and clean the wound." He lifted a small container in his hand.

"I don't need your help," she declared stubbornly, venting her frustrated-and frightened-emotions. "It doesn't hurt."

"Don't lie. The contents of your mind are as readable to me as your face."

Nadina's mouth dropped open in horror as she realized what he was saying. "You…you can read my mind?"

"I can read the minds of all those who are not protected by an equally powerful psionicist, or with a powerful magical item," he informed her, as if chatting about the weather. "So I know that you are disturbed by the thought, and I know that your chin and knuckle do indeed hurt."

Nadina simply stared at him. "Is this a...byproduct of Jarlaxle's spell?"

"No. Psiconic powers are usually passed on genetically, though sometimes a magical item will grant one the power, or protection. I have always had the ability, as did all children of my mother, before House Oblodra was destroyed."

Nadina sat down in a chair, and this time she didn't protest as he stepped closer to her and spread the paste across the cut on the underside of her chin. She stared at the container as he worked, then at her right hand when he took it in his left.

"I didn't even notice that," she said quietly.

He didn't respond, simply treating the scrape across her knuckles with the same procedure. She watched the healing mixture work with curiosity, but when he went to release her hand, she stopped him. Curious, Kimmuriel surrendered control of his hand to her, watching as she studied the white lines around his finger. She traced them delicately with one fingertip, then seemed to realize whose hand she was holding and immediately dropped it.

"Can you put thoughts into minds as well? Communicate across long distances?" She rose and took a few steps away as she spoke, turning her back to him. He recognized it as an attempt to change the subject and distract them both from what had just occurred without reading the contents of her thoughts. Humans were pathetically predictable, as easy to read as an open book, even without psionic powers.

_Yes_, he replied with his mind, demonstrating his abilities for her. She jumped, and he saw her back stiffen, a shiver running down her spine. _My abilities are valuable to Bregan D'aerthe's success._

"Is that how you broke into the High Palace?" she asked, slightly resentfully.

That _was due to meticulous planning_. Turning away from her, he put the paste away.

"What, exactly, is your role in Bregan D'aerthe?" She stumbled over the foreign words, but she had a remarkably correct accent for a surface dweller.

"I am one of Jarlaxle's lieutenants," he replied aloud. "An advisor and strategist."

She was quiet for a few minutes. He turned around to watch her. She looked very drow, standing as straight and rigid as she was, but she was nothing like a malevolent drow female. That was the main reason it had been so long since Kimmuriel had last enjoyed any privacy with a woman. The females of his own kind were strong willed and imperious, not easily subdued, and even those who were not nobles would be vengefully avenged by those who were. Being attacked by multiple snake heads was not a heartening thought. In a matriarchal society, a man took what he was offered, and was grateful for it. And no one asked for the services of a man of a deceased house. Kimmuriel had wisely kept his distance. Jarlaxle had as well, he knew, but he had sought female companionship elsewhere—namely, the surface. And the psionicist knew Jerlaxle had found quite a bit of enjoyable fulfillment there, but until now, Kimmuriel had never considered the possibility. The idea of mating with _ibilith_ had repulsed him.

So what was changing his mind now?

Was it simply that, for all intents and purposes, what appeared to be a drow female stood before him? That, for all their faults and flaws, the simple change in coloration was allowing him to see that humans and drow physically were not terribly different? Or was it his long unsatisfied need that kept drawing him into these thoughts? Or perhaps a combination of these thoughts? Or something to do with the spell that had left white lines around both of their fingers?

Her voice abruptly interrupted his thoughts. "Why did Jarlaxle bring me down here?"

"He has not shared his reasons," Kimmuriel replied. "But such things are hardly out of character for Jarlaxle. He is prone to acting on…spontaneous ideas."

The room was silent once more, each thinking their own thoughts. She broke the quiet first again. "Why did you say this room is the safest place for me?"

"It has been a long time since some of the men here spent any time with a woman. If the other drow warriors came across a female in the hallway…" He shrugged, though she couldn't see the gesture. "And there are those who would strike down those we call ibilith with neither thought nor reason." He chose not to mention or acknowledge that he had once been among their number.

She turned to face him. "But if I went out with you…they would not dare try something against a lieutenant?"

Kimmuriel studied her, her thoughts betraying her hopes. "My work requires too much of my attention to leave any to watch you."

Her shoulders dropped slightly, but she looked at him firmly. "I may be quite a bit younger than you, but we humans age faster. I _am_ fully mature. I don't need a babysitter."

"The situation in the throne room should have demonstrated to you that no human can hold their own against a drow," Kimmuriel answered realistically and firmly. "Even drow act desperately from time to time, especially younger ones. You should remember that you are now in my domain, and it would be wise for you to heed my instructions. Stay here."

XXXXX

Little changed during Nadina's first tenday in the Underdark. Kimmuriel woke her in the morning and brought her food, then he vacated his quarters for the majority of the day, leaving her locked up alone. He stopped in to hand her a second meal in the middle of the day, but other than that, she saw no one until he returned at what she guessed was late evening, and he made sure she was asleep before going to bed. This time was often the most interesting time of her day, as, while she had generally begun doing as he asked, she simply refused to cooperate when he reached for her forehead. She took to subtly avoiding him until he ordered or threatened her to act otherwise. On a few of the days, they had a casual conversation where Nadina would ask him questions, and Kimmuriel replied to the best of his knowledge.

The days alone were, to her pleasant surprise, not nearly as long or boring as she had first feared, mostly for two reasons. One was her discovery, completely by accident, as the thought to ask Kimmuriel had never crossed her mind, of how to switch her vision between the new infrared spectrum and her old light sensitive one. This filled several hours of each day, as she spent time practicing the change until she could do almost without thinking, and then she took the opportunity to light a candle and explore the room once more, this time with her light-seeing eyes.

The second reason was that with her new discovery, she was able to page through several of the books on the shelves by candlelight, and, by studying those with diagrams, able to begin studying the written language of the dark elves. By the end of that first tenday, she was able to recognize individual characters, if not know what sounds they stood for, and she had figured out which ones were numbers. She was not sure whether or not Kimmuriel would approve of the activity, but she didn't ask, fearing to lose the opportunity to pass her waking hours.

She had been very careful to remember which day it was and how many had passed—trapped inside the same four walls, it would be incredibly easy for her to lose all track of time, and in the unending darkness, time was her only anchor.

Thankfully, however, that routine changed at the end of the tenday.

Kimmuriel had always already been dressed and ready for the day when he woke her, and had usually already gone out and brought her food. He usually had simply woken Nadina and left with barely a word passing between them.

On her eleventh day underground, however, Nadina woke to find Kimmuriel still lying beside her. She was lying on her right side, her back to the edge of the bed, which, having never been meant for two bodies, was not overly wide. The drow was facing her, his right hand stretched across the distance between them to rest on her brow.

Even now, in such a casual setting, Nadina could not meet his eyes. She blinked, studying the lower features of his face, until he drew his hand back and sat up, the bedclothes sliding down to reveal that he had slept shirtless—and the clearly defined muscles of his chest and torso, rippling under smooth, velvet black skin made her stomach flip. Quickly, Nadina rolled onto her back, diverting her eyes, hoping he hadn't been reading her thoughts at that moment.

When she felt his weight move and then leave the bed, she sat up, curious as to the change in their routine.

"What's going on?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"I agree with your assessment of a few days ago," he answered, back to her, pulling a shirt over his shoulders and buttoning the front. "That you would go mad if you remain alone in here every day." He turned around. "However, I will expect you to keep up with me, and not slow my progress down, and therefore, I suggest you dress quickly."

It took Nadina a moment to realize what he meant, then she quickly threw the bedcovers aside and swung her feet onto the floor. Nadina had acquired a bit of a different wardrobe over the last few days. Now, she wore black, loose but fitting trousers, a brown shirt and a black jerkin over it, made out of what passed for leather down here. Her soft, worn boots still covered her feet, almost soundless on the stone floor, and her cloak was clasped around her neck. Within a few minutes, they were both dressed.

Without another word or gesture, Kimmuriel moved to the door and opened it, stopping in the doorway and looking back at her, clearly holding the door open. Nadina hurried over to him, but his hand clamped onto her arm, stopping her when she was in front of him.

"Remember your city," he said, tone holding a warning edge. "And stay close to me." He let her pass, closing and locking the door behind them. Nadina followed at his elbow as the drow started off down the corridor. She had almost forgotten about the threat to harm her people. But an escape attempt had been the furthest thing on her mind. She was glad of the drow's long, fast strides. After so many days of inactivity, it felt good to move her body, to stretch her muscles and tendons, and she kept up eagerly, her energy also fed by her desire to discover what lay beyond the door she had stared at for so many days.

XXXXX

The decision to allow Nadina to accompany him was not one Kimmuriel was pleased with, but he had explored the logic of the situation and decided on the best course of action, for several reasons. It was not that he suddenly saw her as being capable of surviving in the drow's world—far from it. But he recognized that she would need exercise to remain healthy, and his business was not as important or time consuming today. And there loomed the very real possiblity of her words coming true—humans were fragile, after all—and Kimmuriel had no desire for a madwoman to be occupying his quarters.

So, having taken into account every perspective, the drow had grudgingly concluded that it was time to free the human from her prison. Besides, he was annoyed with Jarlaxle's persistent questions as to her whereabouts and health, and he had noticed in the last two days that nearly every soldier in Bregan D'aerthe knew that it had been Jarlaxle's choice to bring the human into the dark—and while some might push boundaries with Kimmuriel, no one dared to risk crossing Jarlaxle. Of course, with her altered skin and hair colors, the human did not stand out as obviously as she would have, and would not attract as much unwanted attention.

Ultimately, he trusted his logic and abilities. Kimmuriel was certain that guarding a human would be far from the hardest thing he had ever done.


	4. Confusing Desires

**Author's Note:** This story is now dedeicated to the reviewer identified only as san-san, because their reviews are what got me over my horrible writer's block to bring you this update, which is a few pages longer than usual as a special treat for waiting so long for it! As such, many of the ideas in this chapter were given to me by san-san, and they were just so fabulous that I could not refuse to use them! So thank you so much, san-san, and I hope you don't mind that I took your words to heart. And please forgive me (and correct me) if I totally messed up Bregan D'aerthe's headquarters. I couldn't remember many of the details. _

**Disclaimer: **Nadina Nemiah is my own original character, please PM me or ask in a review if you would like to request to use her somewhere. Everything else belongs to RA Salvatore.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Confusing Desires**

It was the summer she had turned twelve. She had already started her training to be the queen's bodyguard, but the training had not yet reached an intensive pitch, when there was plenty of time for two imaginative girls to be dreamers.

Serenade had not been the first in line for the throne of Armadan. Back then, she had been eleven, rebellious of her mother's wishes that her second daughter act like a lady, and an adventurer at heart. The day was like all lazy summer days; the heat had settled over the land, causing heat waves to create mirages that looked like the creatures they concocted to fight, or noble princes coming to help them save the kingdom. In the midst of hiding from the queen, they usually stole away through the bushes at the back of the palace wall, where they had long ago discovered there was a short tunnel under the wall, where one of the stones had cracked, and they had shimmied through it and out of the bushes that hid it on the other side.

Freedom was a glorious thing. On this day, they stayed near a creek that flowed behind the palace, wading in it often to keep the heat at bay and the sweat out of their eyes. Eventually, being adventurers, they had to explore, and it was natural for them to follow the weaving line of the creek up stream, climbing steadily towards the mountains that rose out of the land not far from the palace and formed one side of the valley the city resided in, splashing and clambering over rocks. They had never followed the creek to its' source before, but this day they did. They found that it bubbled out of a crevice in the rocks at the base of the mountains. The princess had insisted on going into the darkness first. Nadina remembered waiting anxious for her, slightly scared of the unknown but not wanting to be left out of the fun. Finally, she crawled through after Serenade, barely fitting through the opening, but she soon found herself in a small circular cave, the spring forming a pool in the middle.

Neither of the two girls had spoken as they looked around the magical space, their mouths agape as their eyes met. It was their secret from that day until this, their own secret place to run away too, where they shared secrets and hid their treasures. Whenever one of them could not find the other, they immediately went to their place. As they got older and it was harder for them to sneak out of the queen's sight together, they would make their way there separately, until the day they had outgrown the tiny opening, and Serenade's older sister had disappeared, and Nadina's training had intensified. Visiting their cave was forgotten, but every now and then, when they were talking at night, they would speak of their memories in whispers. Remember when...? Remember how...?

Caves had never bothered Nadina. As she grew older and her life became more complicated, she found herself wishing more and more that she could retreat into that secret place again and hide from everything. The stone tunnels she was now walking down had a very different feeling from that magical cave that so much of her childhood had revolved around. Their cave had glowed with life and love, but both were absence from this place. These walls were cold and forbidding, like rigid sentinels, not kind protectors. This was no shelter, no haven, but a prison instead.

Nadina was thankful for the infrared vision her eyes now possessed. There was no light in this lifeless place. She was amazed at the detail that could be conveyed even by only seeing the infrared. She could see the undulations in the wall, the odd, uneven places underfoot—not that there were many, however, because this was a obviously a well-traveled tunnel, as she could see a warmer, flatter strip down the middle of the corridor, loose stones on the fringes. And it was indeed a corridor. Not long after leaving Kimmuriel's quarters, they had passed an intersection with another corridor, and many doors had appeared in the rock walls as they walked. They had yet to see any other drow, however. Nadina supposed they were all out raiding and plundering somewhere, torturing unfortunate citizens.

"Hardly," Kimmuriel said, speaking for the first time since they left, the intrusion of his voice into the silence causing her to jump. "Drow possess no laziness, unlike your human counterparts. Even though Narbondel has only been lit for a few hours, they are awake and working. Most are probably on the training courts, or eating a meal. We have no jobs lined up for another tenday."

It took Nadina a moment to realize he had read her thoughts, and she bristled at the realization, but stayed silent.

"What is Narbondel?" she asked instead after a moment.

"Our way of keeping track of time," he answered matter-of-factly, not breaking stride or looking at her. "It is relit everyday at your midnight. When the sun is highest in the sky on the surface, Narbondel burns the brightest, at its' peak."

Nadina considered this as Kimmuriel led her out of the tunnel and into a rather large (to her; Kimmuriel, having lived in Menzoberranzan, considered it tiny) cavern. They came out about halfway up the wall, and Nadina could see many other tunnels through which drow were entering or leaving the cavern. Below them were what must have been the training courts. She wished she still had her dagger. She, used to sparring everyday, had felt the days of sitting bored in the same room very acutely.

Kimmuriel led her to the left, along the edge of the wall, which had paths running up and down the sides of it, criss-crossing at regular intervals. Their path angled downwards, cut smoothly out of the stone. Probably by magic, she mused.

"Gray dwarves," Kimmurial corrected her, having read her thoughts again. "Quite a few of them work with Bregan D'aerthe." Nadina couldn't resist turning to glare at the drow walking beside her, but he took her arm in a firm grip and roughly turned her into another tunnel. This area was much more traveled. They passed two drow walking in the direction they had come from, and soon the tunnel opened into another cavern, this one only room size. Three or four other tunnels were connected to it as well, but Kimmuriel turned her to the left again and pushed open a door set in the exact middle of the wall with his free hand.

Nadina blinked as the door opened to reveal a throne room of sorts. It was long and narrow, and at the end precisely opposite of them was a stone chair in which Jarlaxle himself lounged, seated sideways, legs over one arm, digging under his nails with a knife point. His hat was draped over the top of the chair. In front on him was an entourage of gray dwarves. Nadina couldn't understand what was being said as Kimmuriel led her to one side of the room, but the mercenary leader appeared to be immensely enjoying himself, and the dwarves appeared to be very upset, or at least annoyed.

Jarlaxle caught sight of them after a moment, and he immediately sat upright and finished his business with the dwarves, who finally looked satisfied as they left the room. Jarlaxle vacated his throne in one smooth maneuver, lithely coming to his feet.

"Here she is!" he exclaimed, coming over to them as Kimmuriel brought her forward, grinning widely—and almost predatorily—down at Nadina. "Well my dear, you look very well indeed." He took her chin in one hand and tilted her head from side to side. "Yes, very pretty. See, I told you black skin and white hair look better. Well? Have you nothing to say at all? Your husband has treated you well, yes?" He laughed at something he found funny. Kimmuriel shifted behind her.

Nadina glared at him. Odd, Jarlaxle was the mercenary leader, and Kimmuriel only a lieutenant, but she could hold Jarlaxle's gaze easily, while Kimmuriel's unnerved her. Maybe it had something to do with his mind reading abilities?

"He isn't my husband," she retorted, voice quiet. Jarlaxle went off into gales of laughter again, walking back to his throne and seating himself languidly, one leg over the arm. He put his arms behind his head and watched her. Kimmuriel moved away from her as well, going to a table on one side of the room and bending over a few books and scrolls. Nadina wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, so she stayed where she was.

"He isn't your husband," Jarlaxle repeated, as if the idea was preposterous. "Really, the poor man spends a tenday caring for you—which he really doesn't want to do, mind you—and he has done quite an extraordinary job of it, I might add, and all you can do is deny him his title?" Nadina glanced at Kimmuriel, but the drow was ignoring the conversation, intent on whatever he was writing. She looked back at Jarlaxle.

"If he really was my husband, he would have not been reluctant to take care of me," she shot back, taking a few steps to her left to face Jarlaxle more fully.

The mercenary leader pulled one corner of his mouth up in a wicked smile. "Oh, would he?" he came to his feet again, stalking towards her, and draped an arm around her shoulders, dragging her against him and turning so they both faced Kimmuriel, moving faster than she could react. "You forget several things when you make such statements, I am afraid. No, no, my dear, you are indeed very well cared for, and I am immensely pleased. See now, perhaps your new vision had let you forget the color of his skin—"

"Not likely," Nadina cut in, and Jarlaxle grinned down at her.

"No," he agreed. "But Kimmuriel is indeed a drow, and one of my best, and one of my most ruthless. Drow excel at killing fragile surface things, but keeping them alive—that is much harder. So the fact that Kimmuriel is keeping you in excellent health is extremely pleasing to me—whether or not he wants to is completely irrelevant, you see. I know Kimmuriel quite a bit better than you, my dear." He gestured to his lieutenant. "See, someone like myself would use you for his own purposes and grow tired of you extremely quickly—nothing personal, you understand." He patted her cheek. "You really are very lucky, you just don't know it yet." He hugged her tighter, and then released her. Nadina certainly didn't feel particularly special as Jarlaxle walked back to his throne.

Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel spoke of other things for a few minutes, and then Kimmuriel led her out of the throne room. Jarlaxle watched them leave with a wide smile on his face. He was pleased, oh so very pleased, with the way his plans were turning out.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel didn't take her with him the next day. Nadina was once again left to her own devices. She stared boredom straight in the eye and met it head on. Her activity yesterday and seeing the practice courts had strengthened her resolve to not let her carefully trained physique fade away. She moved the table and chairs, pushing them to one side of the room to give herself space. Taking off her cloak and thick tunic so she stood in her trousers, shirt and boots, she stood in the middle of the space and resumed the ready position her teacher had drilled into her mind. She held it for a moment before slowly starting the form shifting exercises designed to work on balance and strength.

The first took her almost ten minutes to complete. She stood to catch her breath for a moment, and then she started in on another practice manuever, a faster one. By the time she finished her workout, she was satisfied. She moved the table and chairs back and then bathed in the room off to one side, the door closed. Kimmuriel shouldn't be back for a while yet, but she didn't want to take any chances.

After her captor delivered her lunch and disappeared, Nadina again felt boredom reaching out to catch her. Defiantly, she rose from her chair and moved over to the bookshelves, retrieving the book she had found the diagrams in, and carried it to the table to study the drow script again. She paused, an idea occurring to her, and went to Kimmuriel's desk. She hadn't ever touched it before, worried that he would have placed some sort of nasty protective spell over it. Taking a risk, she reached out and opened a drawer. It opened easily, with no flashes or bangs, and she saw what she was looking for: clean sheets of parchment. She lifted one from the top of the stack and closed the drawer and picked up a piece of charcoal from the top of his desk before going back to the table, sitting down and beginning to practice drawing the characters.

The script was curvy and elegant, and she enjoyed drawing it, adding her own embellishments and flair, enjoying herself immensely. A long time ago, she had enjoyed art and taken to sketching quite frequently. She was told that her sketches were good, but she herself felt they were a bit mediocre. Still, she enjoyed studying trees and birds and people and putting it down on paper. Speaking of people, a face had emerged in her doodles, and she blinked in surprise as Kimmuriel's face stared back at her out of the lines on the parchment. He really did have a handsome face, she decided, but she hadn't quite gotten his jaw quite right. Determined, she moved to a blank spot on the parchment and began drawing again, frowning in concentration as she shaped the drow's face with her charcoal.

Without warning, she heard the door starting to open, and she shoved the parchment into the book and slammed it shut, jumping up and returning it to its' spot on the shelf. She had just turned from setting the charcoal back on the desk when he entered the room.

XXXXX

Nadina's second tenday in the care of the dark elves passed without any further events. She continued her practice moves daily, though she wished she had her dagger back. She continued studying the drow letters, but without knowing the sounds, she had no way to string them together into words, and after she drew them all several times, her lines dissolved into doodles and sketches. She drew a deal of things from the surface, things that she missed—trees, animals, Serenade, waterfalls, mountains, the palace and city—but time and again Kimmuriel's face emerged on the parchment as well. She was simply fascinated with the drow's face, and no matter how hard she tried, every one of her drawings was lacking in some regard. For all intents and purposes, they looked like Kimmuriel—but something was missing from them, and she could not figure out what. She kept the drawings in the book. She had no where else to put them, after all, and she hadn't ever seen him use that particular book, as it was on the top shelf and dusty, and she figured it was about the safest place.

Thinking about the future was another thing she did. What Jarlaxle had told her weighed heavily on her mind. She had no love for the drow, but she despised Kimmuriel slightly less knowing that he was somewhat trapped, as she was. Not much, after all it could be a drow trick, but a little all the same. Honestly, Jarlaxle was right. She was receiving better treatment than she had ever thought she would, and she supposed she had to be thankful for that. She shivered at the thought of being in Jarlaxle's clutches. He seemed like the merciless type.

The gravity of her situation was finally beginning to sink into her. Not only would it be nigh impossible to slip away from and escape a drow who possessed mind reading abilities, but she had no idea how to get to the surface from here, and even if she did, she looked like one of the devils now. There was no way she could back to her former life, not like this.

Overcome with hopelessness, Nadina threw herself down on the floor, sitting with her back against the bed. The drow were a cruel, hardened, well-oiled machine. How could one lone human do anything against so powerful a foe? There was a reason the drow were so feared on the surface. But the thought of not seeing the sun and stars, and trees, animals, her _home_ again dropped such an ache on her heart that she felt her throat tighten, and her breathing paused before she broke down, hiding her face in her knees as she sobbed for the first time in a very, very long time, silent but shaking.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel's patience was being sorely tested this tenday. He had successfully ignored the conversation Jarlaxle had had with Nadina the day he had brought her with him, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard it. Jarlaxle had been merciless since then, asking all sorts of things. Kimmuriel knew the tactic after spending so much time with the mercenary leader: Jarlaxle was trying to figure out what he was thinking. The lieutenant was stoically denying him any information. Much of working with Jarlaxle involved simply grinning-and-bearing it.

Kimmuriel himself had no true feelings on the matter of his roommate, either. Sure, she took up space, but she wasn't a madwoman, and he never spent much time in his quarters anyway. She would probably wither soon from being in the Underdark, cut off from the sun, anyway. Humans were such pathetically fragile creatures. He would humor Jarlaxle; it would make his relationship with the mercenary leader easier in the future. And that was what was important.

With the mercenary party's next job coming up, Kimmuriel was very busy—in part because Jarlaxle was leaving him here, to watch over things while he was gone. Kimmuriel knew the real reason was Nadina, however. Jarlaxle was leaving him here with her. Honestly, Kimmuriel had no feelings about that, either. He did not mind staying; his quarters were more comfortable than anything on the road. Still, he would have gone to get rid of Jarlaxle's snarky comments about him waiting until the mercenary leader was gone to "have fun" with his human bride and shooting him knowing, sidelong glances and putting innuendos in their conversations with the other soldiers that left Jarlaxle laughing and everyone else confused. Jarlaxle insisted on calling her his "bride". He seemed quite taken with the human idea, for some reason. Part of Kimmuriel was convinced that Jarlaxle had concocted this idea just for creating confusion and mayhem within the mercenary party. Kimmuriel won't put it past him, and he knew from skimming the thoughts of others that rumors of the human captive were certainly flying, and while some of them made Kimmuriel snort at the stupidity, some were certainly dark and private in nature. Still, Kimmuriel was not the type to be affected by rumors. He observed them circling, but let them continue circling.

XXXXX

The day that Jarlaxle and the majority of the soldiers were to leave, Kimmuriel rose earlier than usual. His mind milling with thoughts, things that he had to accomplish in a short time, he rose from the bed and dressed. One of these was checking up on an obscure human custom. Moving to his bookshelf, he reached up and deftly plucked a book off the top shelf, surprised at how little dust it had accumulated on the binding. It was been quite a while since he had needed this particular tome. Supporting the binding with a hand, he flipped it open, and started flipping through the pages, looking for a certain passage. To his surprise, several sheets of parchment fell out from a page detailing the differences in drow and human script, scattering on the floor. With a frown of bewilderment, the drow knelt down, collecting them up. He stopped.

Across each page, drow script flowed in neat, even lines, but it was illegible, like that of a child practicing the letters. Towards the bottom of the pages, the lines of writing dissolved into sketches and drawings. Kimmuriel had not been caught off-guard by anything in a very long time, but seeing his own face looking back at himself caused him to physically rear back from the page—not in revulsion; the image was actually surprisingly accurate and detailed, and Kimmuriel had no problems with his appearance, but in genuine surprise. Still holding the sheets, he turned, his eyes falling on the figure curled in his bed, asleep. He had thought that she _hated_ him. Why, by Lolth, was she drawing pictures of him? Sure, he was not the only thing she had drawn—and she had quite a deal of talent—but he was the only drow, and he was the only thing drawn on _all_ of the pages, sometimes multiple times. Kimmuriel could find no logical reason for her to do such a thing, and if there was one thing he could not stand, it was lacking a valid answer to a conundrum. He stared at the human, as if looking at the artist would make her intent appear, and cursed inwardly that he had no time to explore the problem right now. He put the parchment pages in the desk drawer and looked through the book to find the answer he needed, and then set that on the desk too, pulled his cloak on and woke his human guest, and walked out the door to attend to his myriad tasks.

XXXXX

Jarlaxle noted Kimmuriel's distraction almost immediately, and triumphantly pounced on it, hopeful that the change in his lieutenant's mood meant that he had finally gotten to know _all_ of the human. All of his questioning was fruitless, however, and from the general uptightness of the other dark elf, Jarlaxle concluded that no, he hadn't, and he was saddened and slightly frustrated. Why was Kimmuriel taking his time? He would have already enjoyed her presence immensely, if he had kept her for himself. Jarlaxle had sought a release for his desires long ago; surely Kimmuriel knew that he would never be able to be with a drow female again? Jarlaxle had given him as close a substitute as possible. He shook his head. Today was not the day to pry into the other's business. He had no choice but to keep his fingers crossed that Kimmuriel would be much more relaxed when he returned and concentrate on their task today.

Kimmuriel worked diligently, going over the lists of supplies one last time, checking that all the necessary soldiers were present and accounted for, and the hundreds of other odds and ends he was responsible for as a lieutenant. But Nadina was in the back of his thoughts the whole while he worked. Several times, he briefly paused and reached out to his quarters, curious to see if his guest had gone to draw him again. The third time he checked, it appeared that she had, and was quite distraught about the fact that he had discovered her secret. He stepped into a vacant supply room for a moment and closed his eyes, concentrating more fully on her thoughts, taking a sort of morbid fascination from the fact that she was as confused by it as he was.

XXXXX

Nadina blinked as she woke up, and, still not being able to see, closed her eyes and shifted her eyes to see in infrared vision again. They sometimes switched while she slept, she had noticed. That done, she sat up, stretching, as Kimmuriel left, shutting the door behind him, and yawned. She shook her hair, and reached up to comb her fingers through it with a grimace at the tangles. She turned, moving to stand up.

She didn't notice until she went to retrieve the tome and resume her writing and drawing from the day before. She reached up to grab the book and found nothing but an empty space where it had been. Heart in her throat, she turned to look around the room, her eyes alighting on it on the desk. She hurried over, immediately flipping the book open to the place where she had left the parchment. It was gone, and she cursed out loud. Kimmuriel had found it, obviously. Groaning, she closed the book and hid her face in her hands in embarrassment. How could she face him again? Yes, she had admitted to herself that the drow had physical qualities that made him attractive to most human women. But for him to _know_ that was completely different. Besides, he was a _drow!_ What was she thinking, letting any thoughts of desire even cross her mind. Unbidden, an image of his shirtless torso, the bed sheets gathered at his waist, rose in her mind, and her blush deepened as she shoved the image away. He was a drow, the _enemy,_ she told herself firmly, but her attraction to him would not be wished away so easily. Moaning in despair, she collapsed on the bed again, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She lifted her hands, staring at them. Would it be so bad? she wondered. No human man would have her now, after all, not with the inkiness of her skin. At least, not easily. And there were few human men that she had even been attracted to in the first place. But what of children? She bit her lip. She knew humans and drow could have children; she had heard rumors of such things happening, though they were, of course, frowned upon. What would half-drow, half-human children look like, she wondered? Would the inky blackness of their sire win out against the milky paleness of their mother, or would they bear more evidence of their human heritage? Of course, she was no longer pale...

Wait a moment, why was she thinking about this? It was ridiculous, living underground for so long must be addling her brains. She rolled over and shoved her head under her pillow. How could she even consider consenting to live here for the rest of her life? This was a prison: she was fed like an animal, let out only at her master's discretion, and locked away from everything she loved. How she consider just sitting by and letting that become her life without fighting back? She drew a deep breath and vowed to shove any and all desires for Kimmuriel down into a very deep, very dark place and not let them surface again.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel blinked as he finally pulled himself out of her thoughts, staring dumbstruck at the wall in front of him—something that did not happen very often to the competent lieutenant. Her thoughts swirled violently in his—half-drow children, confusion, consideration of the life ahead of her, anger at herself, the image of him—and served to only to raise more questions for him to answer. She was…attracted to him? The possibility had never crossed his mind, and the realization left him with a weird mix of bewilderment and…satisfaction? Triumph? She was human, something Jarlaxle was _toying _with, _ibilith _at worst, a pet at best. She was right, however, in her observation that no human man would have her now. Whatever she said, they would believe her defiled and disgraced by the drow. Still, he had to admire her determination to not remain in the Underdark forever, even if he knew it was fruitless. She was down here until she died, Jarlaxle had seen to that. Generally, once someone caught Jarlaxle's eye, they had to put up with him until they were dead—which usually wasn't very long.

Kimmuriel delayed returning to his room at the end of the day for as long as possible—not avoiding his confusing guest, but wanting to straighten out his thoughts before she tangled them even more. It was not to be, and he eventually had to resign himself to the fact that he could find nothing else to do this evening, and return to his quarters.

She was seated at the table, cheek leaning on one hand, and immediately sat up straight as he entered. He ignored her as he usually did, hanging his cloak up and crossing the room. She rose as he walked past her. He bent, undressing himself for sleep. When he turned around again, she had done the same, standing beside the bed in her loose shirt and breeches, just as they always did—odd that he considered her part of his routine. He wondered how comfortable she must be sleeping in those confining clothes. Wordlessly, she sat down on the bed, and he leaned over, setting fingers on her forehead and sending her to sleep, laying her down and covering her in the blankets. He paused, staring down at her contemplatively. No, this human Jarlaxle had given him was not ugly, he admitted that to himself as he leaned back. Very far from it, in fact. He let his gaze linger on her form a moment longer, and then he went to the other side of the bed and laid down himself, gazing at her profile. Unable to resist, he reached out and traced her profile, across her forehead, down her nose, over her lips, down her neck to the divot in her collar bone. He withdrew his hand and refused the temptation to wake her up and satisfy the need that had just coursed through his gut. He rolled over with a grunt, where he couldn't see her. Kimmuriel may have admitted that he had found attractive qualities in a human, but he was not yet comfortable enough with the idea to act on those desires. He forced her out of his mind and closed his eyes firmly.


	5. Revealing Dreams

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, particularily **Yulandia** (formerly san-san) and** A Ninny Mouse**! You are all fabulous, and I'm not exaggerating when I say you are what keeps me writing. Without your encouragement and suggestions, I never would have gotten over my writer's block. Please keep telling me what you think!

Sorry about the false alert. Got a bit of cold feet over this chapter. Not sure if it speeds things up too much or not...please let me know, okay? I'll repost it if it needs to be fixed. :)

**Disclaimer: **Nadina Nemiah is my own original character, please PM me or ask in a review if you would like to request to use her somewhere. Everything else belongs to RA Salvatore.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Revealing Dreams**

Tonight, Kimmuriel had perplexing dreams. It was rare that the drow dreamt at all; he sought sleep simply because he needed it; he took no enjoyment in sleeping. When he did dream, it was short, disconnected fragments, summoned from the trauma surrounding the events of the night his family had perished, or when he had a large problem he was working on. They certainly were not so long, so real, so overpowering as this dream was.

He saw it clearly: Nadina's black skin gleaming with sweat, her bare chest heaving, her ivory hair strewn across the pillow, her eyes clouded with lust for him and him alone, wanting him, and he could feel her under him, the softness of her skin under his lips, the taste of her sweat—he woke suddenly, panting and sweaty, heated all over and shaking, desires he had not felt in Lolth-knows-how-long pounding through him. His eyes were drawn to her form where she lay on her side, her back to him, blithely unaware of his problems, and oh, how the covers outlined the slimness of her waist—

The drow sat up abruptly, turning away from her, berating himself harshly in his mind for losing control. He heaved himself to his feet and dressed hurriedly. He needed to get out of this stuffy room, away from her; he needed to walk, to move. The dream had clouded all of his normally attuned senses; he had no idea how long he had slept, but as he stepped into the hallway, he realized only an hour had passed as he lay asleep. Knowing that, he knew he needed to sleep, or be too tired to be of any use the next day, but the sheer thought of going back into bed with her sent a shiver up his spine and a spasm of heat through his belly.

The drow walked through the tunnels for seemingly hours before finally settling at the table in the room containing Jarlaxle's throne, where he set his elbows on the wood and his head in his hands. The walking had helped little; the intensity of the dream still clung to him like lightning. Her scent followed him, it seemed, driving him mad. He slammed a fist into the table. How could he lose such control, at a time like this? He, who always had such discipline, and now he couldn't stop his thoughts from slipping back to the velvet softness of her skin, the way her hair flowed, the look in her eyes—he growled and leaped from his chair, pacing the room violently. What was _wrong_ with him? Was this some trick of Jarlaxle's, some side effect of the spell he had woven around them? He wished that was the case, but he doubted it. And he knew why he couldn't squash his desires.

He stared at the wall. He did not like intense emotion, because it took over him, clouded his judgment, made him feel like he was not him. His previous experiences with the few drow females who had requested his presence had been, while not unpleasant—oh no, not unpleasant at all—but he had never truly experienced them to their fullest. He had seen it as a test, to keep his wits about him, to not lose control. Why were his feelings, his desires, so much more intense now? Because of the dream? Because of the length of time he had gone without bedding a woman? Or was there something deeper at work—was it because she was a human female, not a drow woman, and _he_ could take charge this time, instead of being subjugated to a woman's will, fearing punishment if he did not perform to expectations?

That was the other problem—she was human. He had spent so much of his life looking down on humans in disdain. How could he see her as a partner now? It rebelled against his nature. Yes, Jarlaxle used humans to settle his own needs—but Kimmuriel was not willing to sink to the same depths. In truth, he felt that the mercenary leader was a bit too inconstant for his own good, but that was Jarlaxle. Then again, if Nadina was his only partner—he won't be like Jarlaxle were that the case. And her skin was black, like his, making her seem more drow than human. It had certainly been enough for him in his dream earlier, he scoffed. As for others talking about him, well, they already were. And he had no family left to disgrace. And the mercenaries still followed Jarlaxle willingly enough—but Jarlaxle was Jarlaxle, and a lot of rules seemed to not apply to him.

Unbidden, Nadina's thoughts from earlier rose in his mind. He had purposely shoved the idea of half-drow children from his mind, unwilling to confront it then. Now, it came back, and he let it, though he winced. Still, Kimmuriel was logical, and it was a fact that had to be confronted. He knew it was possible for a human woman to conceive children spawned by a drow father. Children were not something he would ever be able to deal with, not here, not in this life. Then again, if one bore his own psionic powers, it could be helpful to the mercenary party, he realized with a start. And why couldn't he raise children here? Nadina had nothing else to do anyway, and the thought of his family's name continuing, despite the attempts of Menzoberranzan to eradicate it, was very pleasing to him, a sort of personal revenge and triumph. The drow lieutenant sank down into the chair again with a barely audible sigh. He was beginning to calm, much to his relief, such that he considered returning to his room. He really did need to sleep. Besides, he needed to prove to himself that he remained in control. Perhaps—just perhaps—he could indeed enjoy the human as Jarlaxle had no doubt intended for him to. And perhaps it would be wise for him to fulfill that intention while Jarlaxle was gone and escape his taunts for a few days. But not tonight; the hour was late, and he required sleep.

His walk back through the corridors to his quarters was slow, every step deliberate. He was surprised that it had gotten so late while he paced and thought. He would only have a few hours of sleep before he had to rise and begin his duties for the day. He only hoped vehemently that he did not have another such dream.

He opened the door to his room slowly and stepped inside, instinctively quiet, though he knew he wouldn't wake her. The drow didn't need a light to see her form still in the bed—now facing him, still asleep. Quietly, he removed his tunic and shirt and slipped back into bed, lying on his side, his back to her. But he was wide awake, every nerve focused on control, his keen ears picking up every soft breath that came from between her lips. He eventually drifted off into a light sleep listening to her.

XXXXX

Jarlaxle and the soldiers he had taken with him to complete Bregan D'aerthe's current mission would be gone from their headquarters near Menzoberranzan for a tenday, if not a few days more. Even though they were deep in the Underdark, it did not take the drow as long to travel through the maze of tunnels as it did the other races. The first days would be spent in transit. After that, they would emerge on the surface at night, and begin their work. The majority of the planning had been between Jarlaxle and Rai-guy Bondalek, his other lieutenant, but Kimmuriel knew the majority of the mission: a drow family in Menzoberranzan had contracted the mercenary group to deal a blow to a mining operation that had begun shorting them when it came to paying their dues, and the drow were making it known that the miners were very much at the mercy of the drow.

It was Kimmuriel's job to ensure that operations at their headquarters continued running smoothly. His first day's task was to insure that a shipment of weapons and equipment from traveling gray dwarf merchants was delivered and stored, and he had to bargain with them, as they wanted more than the first set price, thanks to some dangers they had encountered on the way. Secondly he had to meet with any representatives of drow families who wanted to engage Bregan D'aerthe. And he was responsible for making sure the perimeter guards in the tunnels reported in on time, and that the defenses remained secure in case of an attack—or if any of their prisoners tried to escape.

He let Nadina come with him. Without Jarlaxle to make underhanded comments at the sight of her, or the majority of the other drow present to threaten her, he thought it was a good time to let her out and get some exercise. She was certainly relieved, from what he read in her mind. And at least, if she was with him, she would not be drawing any more sketches of him, or let her thoughts wander in dangerous directions. In fact, she proved very useful. She was a very quick learner, and figured out quickly which scrolls of parchment he needed and when he needed them, several times she supplied him with things he had misplaced, and when he bargained with the dwarves, they were a bit more cooperative than usual at the sight of what they undoubtedly assumed to be one of the feared drow females.

In short, the first day Jarlaxle was gone passed very quickly, and then it ended with a meal in the mess hall, which was quite empty, both because of the lack of inhabitants present and because they ate rather late. But Nadina never once complained or attempted to escape; in fact, she even _smiled_ at him once, the first time she had even done such a thing. Of course, it was also after the first time he thanked her for something…

That event bewildered him. He had shoved all thought of it out of his mind, as he was very busy at the time, but now he let it come back. She had handed him a scroll he had been searching for while recording the equipment the gray dwarves had brought, and the expression of gratitude had sprang to his lips instinctually. It was an odd feeling, but he had to admit, they had made a very good team. It had seemed so natural to work together, to be close to her all day. He wondered if she knew of the effect her appearance had had on the gray dwarves.

They walked silently through quiet corridors back to Kimmuriel's quarters, each in their own thoughts, the comfortable silence broken only by the sound of their feet, Nadina's louder than Kimmuriel's, however hard she tried to match his. He stole a glance at her. Now, alone with her for the first time today, it was as if her presence burned; he could almost feel heat coming from her beside him in the dark. He was both relieved and filled with dread when they reached his rooms.

She entered first, clearly exhausted after a long day and glad to be able to sleep, he followed her, his attitude a bit more subdued. He locked and secured the door, as he always did, and slowly moved to his side of the bed, where he pulled his tunic and shirt over his head and folded them over the back of their usual chair. He turned to find Nadina already curled up in bed. He sent her sleep, and then climbed into the bed himself. But he was envious of her, wishing he himself had someone to send him to sleep. Instead, he lay on his back in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and listening to her every slight sound long into the night.

XXXXX

Thankfully, Kimmuriel did not dream again that night as he had feared, but his sleep was far from restful and not deep: he tossed and turned and woke much earlier than he usually did. He lay for a moment, feeling almost as exhausted as the night before, then heaved a sigh and sat up, bringing his knees up and resting his forearms across them. There was no point in continuing to sleep, he knew. It would be a waste of time; he would not rest, and Kimmuriel Oblodra did not waste time. But the list of tasks waiting for him to accomplish today made him wish he could sink into sleep, and he allowed himself a moment of stillness before plunging into them.

The psionic drow turned his head to his left, where Nadina slept on. She was curled delicately on her right side, facing him. He watched her peaceful face for a moment and then reached out and took a lock of her silky hair in his hand, letting it run through his fingers. It was an oddly comforting and relaxing gesture, he discovered, rolling the ends around his fingers. With her hair covering her round human ears, she looked completely drow. Her ribs rose and fell slowly, slightly, as she breathed, her lips just barely parted. The picture was beautiful, he found himself thinking. His eyes fastened on her full lips, remembering the softness of her skin in his dream, and, very slowly, he leaned down, slipped one hand under her chin to turn her face upwards, and gently pressed his lips to hers.

His mouth met hers perfectly, as if the two were made for each other, her lips as soft as he thought they would be, and a wave of heat and desire twisted his gut, making sweat break out on his back and arms, and he surprised himself by groaning against her mouth. Gently, he pulled back, breathing quickly, his limbs shaking. The drow rose from his bed and made his way into the smaller attached room, where he took a very long, very cold bath.

XXXXX

An hour later, he was again looking down at his sleeping bed mate, but now he was fully dressed and feeling much more in control of himself. Very quickly, he laid his deft fingers on her forehead and woke her up, and then he moved away and headed out the door before she was fully aware of her surroundings.

His long bath had made his exit from his room at his usual time, despite his abnormal waking hour, and he met the usual faces as he made his way to Jarlaxle's throne room to begin the day's duties. He worked nonstop all morning, finishing the supply inventory turning away another group of gray dwarves who wanted to sell them supplies and slaves, as they were fully stocked of the former and had no need of the latter. If a drow warrior wanted to stay in Bregan D'arthe, he was required to pull his own weight.

Finally, lack of food made him stop. He had not eaten breakfast this morning, the idea of food making him slightly sick to his stomach, after affects of his cold bath and desires, but now hunger gnawed at him. First he headed back to his quarters, however.

Nadina was fully dressed, wearing comfortably-fitting shirt, tunic, trousers, and boots. She was seated at the table, that book again in front of her, but she had obviously not been working very long, judging by how blank the parchment was, and she instantly looked up as he entered. He held the door open and jerked his head towards the hallway behind him. She smiled softly and immediately came to her feet, closing the book. They ate and then returned to Kimmuriel's duties, and she was as helpful as the day before.

The day passed marvelously; Kimmuriel accomplished more than necessary, and so was able to start on the project that had been nagging him for months: organizing the store rooms. Jarlaxle, while he made sure everything was documented and put away, was not the best of organizers, and the disarray of the store rooms had been a thorn in Kimmuriel's side for months. Late in the afternoon, he led Nadina and handful of workers down to the lowest level of Breagn D'arthe's headquarters, and, selecting one key from a ring containing many, unlocked the first door. He mentally winced at the mess within, and giving sharp orders, began the process of cleaning it.

XXXXX

"Where do you want these?"

Kimmuriel glanced up from making careful, neat notes on a piece of parchment. They had made good progress on getting the room organized, and as it was now late evening, he had sent the others to dinner and their beds, leaving only himself and Nadina to finish. She was holding a box of whet stones for sharpening blades; they had found four half-full boxes of the useful tool in varying sizes and had carefully sorted them. Much to Kimmuriel's chagrin, they had also found several boxes of supplies which had grown moldy or had something chew on them and had to be thrown out.

"Over there," he answered, pointing to a back corner and making another mark on the parchment as she sidled past him and placed it where he had indicated. To his relief, she had a knack for organization to; by skimming her thoughts he had learned that she was as annoyed at the clutter as he was. That done, he rolled the scroll up and set it in a box to finish tomorrow, moving that box to the side as well, and turned to see where Nadina was. She was looking curiously at a greave she had pulled out of a crate beside the one she had set down, holding the forearm armor up and turning it from side to side, admiring the delicate carvings in the metal.

"This is beautiful work," she commented quietly, and he came up next to her and lifted one out himself.

"These were made by the gray dwarves," he explained, running a thumb over the one he held. "And yes, they are clever metalworkers." He traced the patterns in the metal absentmindedly, watching her intent face. As he did, he suddenly realized how close to her he stood; before, he had been too intent on the greaves to notice how close he stood to her: any closer, and they would be touching shoulders. Now, he not only noticed that, but also how little room there was in the store room at all, and that they were not only alone in the room, but probably also on the entire lower level as well. And he noticed the way her lips were pressed together as she studied the metal, and he wondered what it would have felt like if she had been awake this morning when he kissed her, how her lips would feel moving on his instead of being inert. He felt some of the heat that plagued him begin to turn in his gut again, and quietly replaced the greave he had taken back in the box without taking his eyes off her face. Nadina put the greave she had been examining back in the crate as well and took a moment to straighten the stacks of them, and then she turned to look him—and he saw on her face, without needing to read her thoughts, that she was surprised at how close he was, but more at the look in his eyes. Her gaze flickered across his face, unable to hold his, and her cheeks flushed. She took a slight step backwards, but that was all she could do: the drow was between her and the door.

Kimmuriel couldn't help feel a bit of satisfaction at knowing that he confused her as much as she confused him, and the corner of his mouth drew up in the tiniest of smiles. He lifted a hand and slid it under her chin, turning her face up to him. She fought it for a fraction of a second, and then gave in, letting him lift her face to look up at him. Kimmuriel studied her face for the barest of moments, and then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers for a second time that day.

As before, he had the impression of their lips fitting together perfectly, a sealed seam. And that dreaded heat that burst out in the bottom of his belly again wasn't really so dreaded. Nadina had gone absolutely still as soon as he leaned down, closing her eyes, and she still didn't move. He held the kiss a bit longer, relishing in the taste of her and how soft her mouth was and how it conformed to his, and then he pulled back, dropping her chin.

The human opened her eyes again and lowered her face, swallowing. He skimmed her thoughts: confusion was rampant among them. She took a deep breath through her nose before she spoke. "I thought you hated humans," she said quietly, breathlessly, and by pressing into her thoughts even more, he discovered that some of the heat in his gut had also been ignited in hers.

But she asked a valid question. "It has been a long time since I spent any length of time with a drow female," he explained, brutally honest. "Just as you noted the other day that your own males would reject you because of your new skin tones, my female brethren will not allow one of a dead house to be in their presence."

She still wasn't looking at him, but looking down and to her left. He saw her stiffen as she realized by his last statement that he had been prying into her thoughts again, and her head snapped up, true anger in her eyes for the first time. "You were reading my mind again," she snapped. "I never spoke of that—I was alone in your room. How did you hear that?" Underlying her anger, he saw, was fear—what else had he heard while listening to her thoughts?

Kimmuriel did not try to escape her accusation. "Yes, I heard your thoughts the other day. When I am gone, I sometimes reach out to you to be sure that you remain in my quarters and don't try to destroy anything. As for how, my abilities extend quite some distance. I don't need to be in the same room as you to hear your thoughts."

She swallowed, looking away again, fighting her anger and fear and a new wave of despair—would she never be safe from him?—that rolled through her. When she spoke again, it was in a resigned, quiet voice. "Are we going to go eat?"

Kimmuriel gave one nod and turned, leading her to the door and then holding it open for her to exit before locking it again. All in all, he thought as he followed her back to the mess hall, that had gone well.


	6. Revelations

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the wait! I've gone back to school, and things have been very busy. But tonight, I just felt like writing some fanfiction, so I took a break. Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! You guys are SERIOUSLY what keeps me writing. I keep getting stuck, and then I go read your wonderful reviews and suggestions, and I just figure out the next one! You're all so helpful and I couldn't do it without you!

That being said, I need your help. Firstly, if you could please tell me if you think I'm keeping Kimmuriel in character, that would be great. I'm doing the best I can to think the way he does, but I want to see how well I'm doing.

And secondly, if you would all let me know how you think the story would best progress: basically, I'd like to know if you think it would be best to bump this fic up to an M-rating and include a light lemon or not, or an implied one but no raised rating, or whatever you guys would like to see. I'm honestly torn each way. I think there could be some advantages to each option. So tell me what you think, please? Thanks!

**Disclaimer:** I only own Nadina Namieh.

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**Chapter 6**

**Revelations**

She had never felt so worn down in her life.

It had been two days since what Nadina had started to refer to as "the Storeroom Incident"—because she simply could _not_ comprehend what had happened: that Kimmuriel had kissed her. The thought was too bizarre, too intimate, and all of the paths that flowed from it screamed danger at her. Unless, of course, kissing meant something different in drow culture, which she highly doubted…but there was no way of finding that out without asking about it, and asking about it included admitting that it had happened.

She felt as if she had been walking on pins and needles every waking moment. Everything had changed for her, and she was terribly, hopelessly confused. Yes, she had admitted a while ago that she was physically attracted to Kimmuriel. But physical attractions, in her experience, had nothing to do with what was safe or wise. Lust was lust. She was still terrified of the unpredictable, inhuman drow, whom she had thought hated her. The potential knowledge that her psionic captor did not, in fact, find every part of her repulsive as she had first thought was not something she wanted to think about. It was completely fine to fantasize about something she knew would never, in three of her lifetimes, happen, but something completely different and dangerous to do so when it suddenly moved into the realm of the possible. She wouldn't put it past the drow for it to have been some sort of trick, for him to have read her thoughts and done what he had to mislead and taunt her.

Either way, she had to tread extremely carefully and thus the reason for her exhaustion. It was much harder than the human had ever imagined possible to have to watch not only every word and deed, but every thought as well. Even then, when alone, she found her thoughts drifting back to the problem, and she hurriedly shoved it out of her mind. Unfortunately, if she couldn't think about it, she couldn't resolve it, either.

Nadina was physically attracted to Kimmuriel—he was trained in combat, and thus his body was doubtlessly to be considered attractive by the majority of human women. But that was where the lure ended. She knew what he was: cruel, selfish, unpredictable, hateful, powerful. She had been with the human male equivalent of him enough times to know that she wanted nothing to do with him. There was no emotional connection between them, that she fully understood. Fruitless thoughts that would never be acted on where one thing. But she did not want to accidently tempt him, as ignorant of drow culture as she was. A drow was not to be trifled with, especially not one that knew her innermost thoughts better than she did.

Kimmuriel was talented, magically gifted, and far stronger physically than she could ever dream to be. Nadina certainly wasn't a virgin, hadn't been since that silly boy Renald two summers ago (and, thankfully, there had been more since him), and that was partly what any desires for Kimmuriel that she did have stemmed from—but she had no desire to be raped.

At the moment, she was in their shared quarters, alone. They'd continued sorting the goods in the storerooms for the last few days. It was, admittedly, a task she enjoyed: it employed both her physical strength, as well as her mind, and it was constant, with little or no breaks, just the way she liked it. She'd been very careful, however, not wanting to get trapped between Kimmuriel and the wall again, always leaving herself a way out, somewhere she could quickly duck to if she sensed danger. It hadn't happened, but she was prepared. Had he been a human, she would have slapped him, and let her wishes to be left alone be known—she'd slapped men stronger and larger than her before, and then broken noses and teeth when, enraged, they tried to use that strength and size. But Kimmuriel was different. Somehow, slapping him had seemed like a bad move. Thus the quiet question being her only response.

But today, they weren't sorting boxes and crates in a storeroom. Kimmuriel was busy with making records and bargaining with gray dwarves and whatever else he did when she was left sitting here, twiddling her thumbs. She used the few candles in the room whenever she could, letting them cast a soft, dim light that still felt more natural to her, even after all of the time she had used the infrared vision. She'd taken advantage of the opportunity to bathe again, and then had carefully combed out her long hair, freeing it of tangles and smoothing it down. It was an activity that was relaxing and pleased her greatly—until the memory that her once beautiful, dark hair was now white as bone, as if she was an old woman.

She stared at the silky ivory tendrils in her hand before letting them fall back to her shoulder and holding her palms out before her in the candlelight, staring at them, an activity she had not engaged in since her first few days in the dark. The myriad occupations of her time, and the little time she spent in the light, as well as a desire to ignore it, had helped her to more or less forget about the changes to her physical appearance. Her palms were her palms; if she looked closely she recognized the shape and feel of them, the ridges of calluses and the neat lines of her nails. But the color was so odd that they no longer looked like her hands. Suddenly seized with a thought, she reached out and lifted the candle from the table, rose and strode back into the washroom, where the pool of water she had washed in stood.

The drow had many interesting mechanics, and the wash basin was one of them. It was a pool carved out of the very stone of the room, she assumed by magic, a comfortably large size that three people could probably fit in, albeit uncomfortably. Somehow, there was a current that flowed through silently, ensuring that the water was always clean, and it was a comfortable temperatuew. Now, she knelt beside the edge of the pool, holding the candle out beside her, and looked down into the smooth water like a mirror.

With a splash, the candle slipped through nerveless fingers and broke the smooth surface of the water. The light immediately extinguished, and Nadina was left in the pitch darkness. But she did not care, the hand that had held the candle slowly moving to the side of her face. The other hand followed as she forced herself to breathe deeply and reach in to retrieve the candlestick. It was one thing entirely to know that her skin had been changed, but completely another to look down, expecting to see herself looking back, and instead seeing a drow—seeing Kimmuriel. The change affected her face like it had her hands. She recognized the lines, and planes of her face, but it seemed strangely alien. Somehow, the altered colors seemed to bring other, different features to the fore.

In a daze, Nadina carried the candlestick back into the other room, setting it on the table and sinking back into the chair. She realized that, like it or not, she was resigned to a life in the Underdark now. Nadina may never have thought of herself as overly beautiful or an eye-catcher, like Serenade was, but she had been proud of her pretty features. But now... There was no way she could live in the light again, not when she would have to see that abomination that they had turned her into everyday of her life. At least in the dark, the ugliness was more or less hidden. Quickly, she blew out the other candles, switching her vision back to infrared. Human skin and drow skin shared the same color this way, she mused, looking at her glowing hands in front of her. If this was to be her life for the rest of her days, she might as well embrace all aspects of it.

With sudden violence, she seized the damp candlestick and threw it at the wall with all of her might, whirling in the darkness so her hands could find the others as well.

XXXXX

Her hands may not have looked like hers anymore, but at least they were still as deft and capable as ever. And Nadina had never been more grateful for something to do. She was back in the storerooms, busily sorting through crates again today, along with the other drow members of Bregan D'aerthe whom Kimmuriel had enlisted. They were working on four different rooms, the doors opened to the hallway, crates moving from room to room. Unfortunately, this job required torches, as infrared wasn't good for discerning worn metal from fresh, but the work kept her mind preoccupied . Though she couldn't understand the drow tongue fully yet, she caught a sense from the workers that she wasn't expecting—the camaraderie of sharing a workload. It seemed to her that quite a few teases and taunts were passed around—though never to Kimmuriel, and they never stopped working. For herself, Kimmuriel had set her to sorting through the boxes of one room, and so she sat working alone, save for when someone came and collected a box to move elsewhere.

As she set a mail shirt in the crate with the others like it and pulled another crate towards her, she felt rather than heard someone coming to retrieve it. That was the way all of the drow moved: like liquid silk. Now used to the quietness of her new world, she was in tuned to the little sounds that marked their passing, such as the breath of a whisper as they turned the corner with the minimal amount of space between shoulder and wall, or the softest tread of their strange boots on the hard floor.

Kimmuriel himself knelt beside her, one knee on the stone floor, examining the mail in the crate. Despite herself, she looked up at him as he settled beside her, and then her eyes alighted on his left hand, sitting on the edge of the crate nearest her while his other reached inside, counting to himself. In the dancing torchlight, the threadlike white design around his finger stood out on the darkness of his hand. She had studied her own design when it was first put there, but she had never looked at the scar Jarlaxle had bestowed on him. She had assumed that they matched, but as she looked closer, she realized that they did not. His were thick, straight lines in an interesting pattern, while hers were delicate, feminine, curving designs.

Almost before she realized she had let herself get distracted from her work, his eyes slide sideways, and then his head turned towards her, studying her face and then following her gaze and looking down at his own hand, unfurling the fingers so he could see the pale lines for himself.

"Yes, they are very different," he said casually, as if it was a normal thing to read someone's mind, she thought nastily, angry at him, dread blossoming in her. Then again, she chided herself harshly, her anger sinking as quickly as it had risen, for him, it _was_ normal.

Before she realized what that he had moved, the drow had reached over with his hand and caught hers in it, pulling it to him, and turning her to face him in the process. The day before yesterday, this would have caused fear to spasm in her stomach, and eyes to dart towards the door. But after seeing her reflection yesterday, all of her previous fears of misleading him were gone. She was still human, under the darkness, and unattractive to him. And she had nowhere to go. She was trapped down here until she truly _was_ old and her hair was white anyway, without the help of a spell.

"They are a bit symbolic," Kimmuriel continued, seemingly oblivious to her dismal mood. He laid his left hand on hers so the two puedo-rings were side by side, easily compared. "Jarlaxle used the spell quite a bit differently than its' intended purpose. It comes from the far south, and is the marriage rite of the _Enudrin_ people. I have no idea how he discovered it. It is supposed to be a binding ritual, as the lines can never be removed." He ran a studious finger over the lines on her skin, and Nadina fought to keep her face still and normal as the movement sent a slight chill down her spine. She kept her eyes fastened on their hands, unable to look at his face.

"They are representative of our histories and personalities," he added, turning her hand over to study the other side. "You may make of that what you like." With a final touch to her lines, he released her hand, but he remained crouched silently beside her. Nadina kept her eyes down, sensing that he was trying to search her face for her thoughts—or in his case, just read her thoughts, actually, she realized again with another sinking feeling.

She heard a soft sound, almost like a scoff, from him. "You really do not like that, do you?" he asked, the slightest touch of amusement and thoughtfulness in his voice.

Hot blooded anger leaped to the fore again, so much that she lifted her head to glare at him—how dare he mock her by flaunting what he already knew just out of her reach! More than _anything_ in the world, even more than she wanted to be free, she wanted to hurt him, somehow, in any way, and she cursed him and his ancestors vehemently for their impenetrability, for his invincibility that made him so superior to a mere human like her. What she wouldn't give to make him taste some of the humiliation she choked on every day. But the flash of emotion died quickly as she looked up at him, again, to her growing frustration, unable to meet his eyes. Her thoughts turned apologetic out of the lick of fear that clenched her insides at the thought of having insulted him, all the while hating her own helplessness, knowing that there was nothing she could do to protect herself from him and she was ashamed in her weakness.

She closed her eyes against the tears that welled up there born of frustration and humiliation, and which only added to her shame.

Finally, Kimmuriel moved, shifting from one knee to the other. "Well, then," he said, having been privy to every line of her emotional thoughts. He moved his hand again, reaching out to take her chin in his fingers, pressuring her to lift her face, but, _No, please no_, she prayed as she resisted, and to her amazement, Kimmuriel dropped his hold. Instead, she felt his deft fingers lightly touch her crown, lifting a lock of hair and running it through his fingers.

The gesture, though she knew it was never meant to be comforting, made hot tears press against the insides of her eye lids regardless because of the memories it brought to the surface, such that she had to fight them down. She refused to cry openly in front of him. She remained absolutely still, like a statue, and he sat there as well, gently twirling a lock of her hair through his fingers in an almost thoughtful manner.

For once in his lifetime, Kimmuriel found himself at a loss as to how to react, and it was not an occurance he wanted to experience again. For all he had remarked on how simple-minded humans were, their emotions were certainly complicated and confusing. He praised Lolth for blessing him with cool-headed logic. He enjoyed the way her hair felt on his skin as he ran it through his fingers. It was finer and silkier than his own. He cringed at the thought of ruining it by turning it black. Lolth knew the only natural color for hair to be was white. He let it slip through his fingers and fall back into place, studying her closely.

The woman really was very pretty. The thought had occured to him while studying her hands: feminine, neat, lithe, but still strong, callused. It spoke volumes about her. One did not get callused hands like those unless one trained with a blade for quite some time. A thought occured to him, but he quickly dismissed it. Arming Nadina was not something that his instincts judged as a good idea.

It was clear that something was wrong with her, but what he simply could not understand. He sensed it stemmed from him reading her thoughts, but he had no idea how to fix it, or if he even could. Had it to do with her not being able to keep secrets from him? He had picked up some frustration at that. Despite himself, Kimmuriel could understand that feeling a bit. He himself had a rather lot of secrets he did not want to be common knowledge.

With a mental sigh, the drow picked up the box he had come to retrieve and rose to his feet. "Will you be able to finish the rest of these," he asked, "or do you require a break?" Nadina didn't answer verbally. She just turned back to her new box and started emptying it.

XXXXX

"Where is Narbondel?"

The question surprised Kimmuriel, who was once again record keeping, both because he was focused completely on what he was doing and because Nadina had never before shown any interest in anything remotely drow related. He glanced up from where he sat at his desk to look at her. She stood about ten feet away from him, beside the open chest where the scrolls were kept, and was sorting a few them, as he had requested of her. Her pose was relaxed, her weight settled mostly on one foot, both hands held up in front of her, records in each, her eyes trained on them. He couldn't help but admire her for a moment. She made a striking image, wearing her her usual shirt and tunic, which followed her bust and waist closely, over trousers that showcased her long legs to an advantage, and caused some more of that heat to shoot through his gut. That was something he was still getting used too: while drow women looked distastefully down on men's clothing, she had made it clear that she prefered it.

Nadina glanced up at him, and he read confusion as to why his answer was so long in coming in her thoughts. It was a warranted question, after all, she had been nearly everywhere in Bregan D'aerthe's keep without seeing it, and it sounded like it was important and common knowledge, not a secret subject.

"Narbondel is not here, in the keep. It is in the city of Menzoberranzan," Kimmuriel answered, toying with his pen. "Do you think a band of outcast mercenaries is important enough to be favored to house the pillar, or that we have talented enough wizards?" The last was the closest Kimmuriel had ever come to being sarcastic. One corner of his mouth twitched as if it might smile.

Nadina lowered the papers, though she looked at the desk thoughtfully, not at him. "A band of outcasts?" she repeated. "I was under the impression that you worked for and were intimate with the city. Is this not part of it?"

Kimmuriel gave a humorless, knowing chuckle. "No. Bregan D'aerthe is not part of any of the cities. We are a group of misfits who have taken the only chance at life, and therefore the only hope we have of any sort of revenge."

"Which is all a drow lives for," she said bluntly. He shrugged a shoulder. It was a racial judgment others of her race had impressed on her.

"We may often be hired by the Houses of Menzoberranzan and occasionally Chad Nasad, but there are few of them who would not want to destory us, if they had the chance. Jarlaxle is a very unorthodox drow male, a thorn in the priestesses' sides. One does not join Bregan D'aerthe lightly," he continued, completely serious. "Most of us are of fallen, dead houses. Living is the only way we manage to spite those who think we are dead. Take Jarlaxle, for instance," he said, turning back to his records. "He was a third son."

Nadina waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. "A third son?" she finally prompted quietly.

"Traditionally, the third son is always sacrificed to Lolth," the drow continued without looking up, writing. "It is only the daughters who are truly important to a House. Males are just unnecessary mouths to feed."

Nadina looked back down at the scrolls she held, but she wasn't reading them, rather, thinking. How horrible, and utterly barbaric! To think that any child was unwanted...if she were to conceive children, would that fate lie in wait for them?

"I never said Bregan D'aerthe felt the same way that the matrons of the cities do," Kimmuriel commented as if she had spoken aloud. "I simply gave you the ideals most drow hold to."

"And what about you?" Nadina asked almost before she had thought the question, lifting her eyes to look at him. Kimmuriel raised his head and looked at her, but she dropped her eyes as soon as she saw his. Still, the split second of eye contact caused another spasm of that cursed heat to course through his belly, and he had to fight distracting thoughts away.

"What about me?" he asked, setting down his quill. He registered that this was the first question she had ever asked that was directly related to him, and for some reason, that gave him a...positive feeling. Not one that he could name as happy, but certainly not a negative one. He scoffed at himself. It was only because it was related to the conversation. Her feelings toward him were very clear.

Nadina wished she hadn't asked the question, but she had, and she did want an answer. She sensed it was another piece of the puzzle that was this mysterious drow she had been thrown in with. He seemed about as cheerful as he got, and she was not in the mood to back down. "Why are you here? You seem to have so many useful talents. You're very strong. I don't understand how you could end up an outcast." She looked down at the scrolls, holding her breath.

"One only joins Bregan D'aerthe if one is invited to," he answered delicately after a minute. "Few of us are in a secure enough position to refuse. And Jarlaxle doesn't expect or like to be refused. His terms are very clear. House Oblodra was fourth in the city when it was attacked and destroyed."

"So your family is...dead?"

"Drow law is absolute. If the attack is successful, life continues as if the destroyed House never existed. To fail would spell destruction for the attacking house. Houses do not attack unless victory is assured. It took the most powerful house to destory Oblodra." The last, Nadina noted fondly, was said with a bit of pride. She was, she admitted, shocked. An entire family, simply wiped out—and not one else even bothered to note that they were gone?

"I'm...sorry." The soft statement gave him pause and made him look at her, though she wasn't looking at him. For the second situation in too short a space of time, Kimmuriel was uncertain of how to respond.

"It was years ago," he said, dismissing it. "In such large cities, such things happen at least once a tenday."

"But if you survived...doesn't that mean that the other family failed? Couldn't you have the other house destroyed?"

"And what purpose would it serve?" the drow asked. "I would still be houseless, and while some houses might take me in to bolster their ranks, I would always be an outsider, never to be trusted. Maybe to be called to please a mistress sometime, more likely sacrificed to Lolth to gain more favor. Houses are not destroyed unless she wishes it. Here, in Bregan D'aerthe, I have power, and my own will, and I am free. Which would you rather have?"

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**AN: **Aww, poor Nadina, trying to understand things that make no sense to the human mind. I hope I got those bits about drow culture right, someone tell me if I didn't so I can fix it! It's been awhile since I read the first books, and I don't have them with me here. Anyway, thanks for reading! Look for the next update soon. It will probably come once I have answers to those questions at the top. You are all amazing! :D


	7. Dark Musings

**Author's Note:** I hit a very big writer's block with this chapter, which is a crummy excuse for how long it's been since I updated. I sincerely apologize for that. *hides deep underground with a drow plushie to wait for the angry mob to leave* Anyway, to gain inspiration I read through the reviews and the story again (spelling errors and inconsistencies, oh my! I apologize. I swear, I did proof read it before I posted it).

Thank you again to all of my reviewers, you guys definitely provided the push to keep me writing this!

Disclaimer: The only thing of my own creation is my character Nadina Nemiah. Everything else belongs to R.A. Salvatore.

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Chapter 7

**Dark Musings**

The last of the days before Jarlaxle and the rest of Bregan D'aerthe returned were far too short, in Nadina's opinion. With so many of the band's resident drow gone, Kimmuriel apparently felt it was safe for her to accompany him, and she reveled in the new found freedom. She imagined she was actually beginning to learn her way around the tunnels of the mercenaries' keep. The work wasn't too different than what she had done when in the Queen's employ: though organizing the storerooms and sorting the countless other items and chests that Kimmuriel found for them to document and put in the proper places were menial tasks at best, it was something she could do, something she was good at, and Nadina had always taken pride in a job well done.

Besides, it was a distraction, not only staving off boredom but any more thoughts of the future or her present situation. She had stopped resisting his use of psionics to send her to sleep, glad for to be able to forget her fears for at least some time. To her joy, she was learning bits of the drow language through their work: not much, certainly not enough to speak it at all, but marking items on lists required knowledge of numbers and the name of item in question, and she nearly absorbed the knowledge, always having hard a penchant for learning new things, though she did not want to ask questions of Kimmuriel beyond the necessary ones.

For Kimmuriel, Jarlaxle could not return quickly enough. He was hardly worried that the mission had gone awry; he was absolutely confident the band would be successful and knew they would return accordingly. Instead, his desire for a swift return was rooted in the fact that though he was quite certain he was much more organized and adept at these things than Jarlaxle, he did not _want_ to command the mercenary band. It took up much of his time during the day, leaving precious little for his own research and personal work.

And the sooner the leader returned, the less time he would be spending in Nadina's presence, and the more he would have duties to distract himself. Running Bregan D'aerthe was a routine, one he settled into, and it wasn't enough to keep his incredibly powerful mind occupied. Dealing with Jarlaxle was, however. He frowned at the revelation that he was slightly disappointed for her to be away from him, even though continually setting her to new tasks interrupted his own concentration.

After their surprisingly intimate past few encounters, both of them had backed off slightly. If Kimmuriel was truthful with himself, it was because she was a puzzle to him that had so far eluded solving, something that had not happened in quite some time in his life, and he did not like how it upset his balance. Nadina's distance was out of uncertainty as to where she stood with the drow and, frankly, fear. She was still adjusting to life in the Underdark, trying to wrap her mind around how brutal the drow culture was. She had, of course, heard stories, but with her young age and untraveled eyes, she was rather naïve about the world, she had to admit to herself.

And Kimmuriel's acknowledgement that she did not like having her thoughts read, and the fact that he had stopped when she asked him to—well she hadn't, but he'd seen it in her mind and reacted to it anyway—had well and truly confused her. She clearly remembered that when she first woke in his quarters he had done as he pleased with no thought as to her feelings on the matter.

Furthermore, she found herself remembering the warmth of his hand on hers as he studied the white lines on her finger, and to her shame she found she wanted to feel it again. Nadina firmly reminded herself that he was a drow, a cruel, cold killer, and told herself she only had these thoughts because she was alone down here, and he was her only hope for contact, physical or otherwise. She found herself torn between fear of what he could do to her and not desiring to be alone. She tried hard not to let these thoughts surface, but from time to time—watching him deftly flip through a crate counting items, or searching for something on his desk, or walking away—her thoughts were involuntarily drawn back to those moments. She quickly quashed them, not wanting him to hear, but controlling her thoughts was a very exhausting process.

Traveling was one more thing she regretted about leaving the surface; even though she and Serenade had long known that with one having to rule a people and one sworn to protect her, there would not be a lot of travel in their lives, they had always dreamt of it. Still, now that the option was well and truly out of reach, she found she had been very interested in her land, if she had never had a chance to see it. Ultimately, she was left wanting to ask the psion questions, but afraid of what the consequences might be.

So the last few days before Jarlaxle's return were largely incident free.

Nadina had known the date when he was supposed to return, but she was still unprepared for the suddenness with which they dropped back into their former routine.

Instead of waking her when he woke, Kimmuriel woke her almost as an afterthought as he hurried out the door to make sure everything was in order before the other drow returned. She barely sat up and got a glimpse of him before the door was shut and locked, and she found herself alone in the dark again.

After being out, active, and working, the shock was almost as great as when she had first arrived. Still, she quickly shook it off and accepted the inevitable. Dwelling on it wasn't a place she wanted to go, and so she once again began pouring through the many tomes and books that lined shelves in Kimmuriel's room.

For the first time, she paused to consider that. It certainly spoke volumes about the drow. He was clearly very interested in a multitude of subjects, since the books covered a wide range. She wondered, with a start, just how old he was. He certainly didn't _look_ old, she noted as she recalled his toned muscles with a blush, sobering again quickly. There were subjects here—some anatomical, some about different spells, or relating to his psionic powers, or about several different cultures, or weapon making—that would have taken many people she knew, herself included, a full lifetime to master. At least, a human lifetime. Admittedly, she knew very little about the lives of drow. She was already aware he was very intelligent. Nadina recognized that she had seen the books and not even recognized them as out of place, accustomed to seeing them someone's dwelling. Now she realized that any murmurs of drow she had heard only concerned brutality and violence. Never had she thought of them as scholars, yet the tomes filling the shelves in Kimmuriel's room certainly implied that he was one.

She found she had a new respect for him, for being so disciplined to learn so much, to study many topics in depth—and found herself a bit lacking by comparison. If he was really as clever and quick as the many books suggested, how could she even _hope_ to hold any sort of conversation he would find interesting with him? Her only training had been the skills required as the queen's bodyguard, to be her closest friend, yet an invisible protector, to act like a lady while always watching for an enemy. No one suspected the maid as being a threat. She had some weapons training, but only with daggers or short swords, things that could be hidden on her person.

It was indeed a miracle the drow had put up with her as he had, as Jarlaxle had told her the last time they talked. She sat on the chair at the desk and simply stared at the books, now recognizing that something she had first overlooked probably represented Kimmuriel's life time. A part of her had hoped, over the last few days of working together, that they would find some sort of common ground, and he a use for her besides her body. Because even though he had yet to make any approach to her in that regard, she felt certain that was exactly what Jarlaxle had hoped he would do with her, and if he had lived so many years with needing any help, what other use would he have for her?

These thoughts unfortunately launched her into another round of depression, but when she felt tears burning her eyes her anger at herself cast them off and filled her with a determination, and she pulled out the tome she had found before and clean parchment and began to try to piece together the drow language with the bits she had picked up since last sitting down to this task.

XXXXX

The mercenary's settlement was buzzing with activity as those who had been gone returned. Only a small fighting force, just enough to guard the easily defensible stronghold, had been left behind, but nobody missed Jarlaxle's return. Something about the vibrantly dressed drow brought life and movement into the gloomy caverns of the Underdark, somehow more than the horde of returning drow did.

Kimmuriel was in the thick of the action, ensuring that his newly organized storerooms did not get turned inside out before a day passed, collecting information to file away in reports meant to track the company's incomes (something Jarlaxle dismissed and Kimmuriel thought they literally could not afford to), making notes of new things they would have to acquire, and generally being busy. Several times, Kimmuriel found himself waiting for Nadina to hand him something he had just set down and needed again, or to ask her to fetch something, only to remember that he had left her behind. It was a strange thing, to realize he'd accepted and grown accustomed to her presence in so short a time, and that he now missed that presence, however slightly, if only because she was very helpful.

Jarlaxle himself was in high spirits, fairly dancing around and speaking to anyone who would listen to him, and other things incomprehensible to Kimmuriel, and hence they were nearly alone before the lieutenant and leader finally came face to face. The leader immediately stopped and studied his lieutenant, quite eager to see if he had finally bedded the woman. Kimmuriel merely met his glance with a face that said nothing, waiting for him to give an order or inquire about business in his absence, and in general was his usual uptight self, and the other drow was forced to the conclusion that no, Kimmuriel had not in fact sampled her completely yet.

With a loud sigh he propped a fist on one hip. Oddly though, despite enjoying that pose, Jarlaxle never seemed feminine, Kimmuriel noted, not for the first time. Several instances of Nadina in that pose flitted through his mind and were squashed firmly before they were accompanied by the flash of heat they had initially brought him. He didn't need Jarlaxle picking up on _that_.

"Have you _still_ not gotten under her clothes?" the mercenary leader asked, feigning exasperation.

Kimmuriel was mildly annoyed that the other drow would unfailing plunge straight into the subject that he was trying to avoid, wondering if the other didn't have some psionic powers of his own. But letting Jarlaxle know that would lead to many other annoyances. Fortunately he had ample practice keeping his face blank. He knew that Jarlaxle was more stating it than asking, and so he didn't even move to respond.

Not that Jarlaxle let him, already forging ahead. "She is still _alive_, isn't she?" Jarlaxe asked next, seemingly not interested in changing the subject.

"Of course she is," he responded as they began to walk back to Jarlaxle's throne room, Kimmuriel with an armful of notes to record properly.

"Oh good. That would be a shame. She'll be useful yet." The jaunty mercenary seemed very pleased about this, and Kimmuriel wisely kept silent though he was deathly curious, knowing questions were not the way to get information out of Jarlaxle, wishing not for the first time that he could read the others' mind. Did Jarlaxle actually have a plan for the human he'd thrown at his lieutenant? It wouldn't be the first time something Kimmuriel had taken as a spontaneous action would prove to be an important piece in some plan, but he had seriously begun to doubt that Jarlaxle had done it for any reason other than to torment him—he wouldn't put it above him. But a small, unexplainable sense of apprehension also flitted through his mind. Just what did Jarlaxle have planned for Nadina?

XXXXX

The mercenaries had settled back into their comfortable lives, as they always did after a job was finished, training and keeping themselves busy until Jarlaxle lined up another opportunity for them. A few days after their return Kimmuriel had relented and taken Nadina with him again, generally when he was on petty errands in which an extra pair of hands to carry things was helpful or when he could get her to sort something and spare him the waste of time. After seeing her work in the storerooms he trusted her to properly sort things if he only told her how he wanted them, something he had never done with another member of Bregan D'aerthe. It disturbed him in the back of his mind that he trusted her so quickly, but he cast the thought aside. He was using a tool, that was all.

After only a day spent in his company, Nadina noticed he had changed since Jarlaxle had returned. She didn't know if he was trying to be more distant or if it was indeed related to the mercenary leader's presence. The psion was more reserved, if that were even possible. She rarely found herself completely alone with him unless in his quarters, and even when they were, there was physical distance between them, and he never tried anything. Part of her was greatly relieved by this, but another was disappointed. Like it or not, Kimmuriel was her only source of any sort of companionship or conversation.

She was still left alone in his quarters some days, but she had hesitantly asked him about something to help her learn to read the drow language, and to her surprise he had easily supplied her with a book which dealt with translations. Her boredom was no longer a threat, but she definitely preferred being in his presence to being left alone, risky or not. Nadina had been surrounded by people all her life. Solitude was not something she had ever had to deal with. In fact her career was intended to be spent nearly entirely in the queen's presence. She knew nothing else to do except ignore the creeping sensation of isolation.

Kimmuriel was not ignorant of her feelings, being privy to her thoughts. But he had never had another living creature in his care before, and many of her wishes were foreign to him. He briefly asked himself why he should care, and decided that if she did indeed feature in Jarlaxle's plans, it would be best to keep her healthy. Then he sighed quietly and admitted to himself that _ibilith_ or not, he unaccountably _liked_ the human.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel needed to go into Menzoberranzan. There were items in the markets there that he needed for his personal projects, and a few orders he needed to place on behalf of the mercenary band.

In fact, he had needed to go for a while now, but he had kept putting it off, always finding something more pressing to do, until it simply couldn't wait anymore. Jarlaxle did not heckle him to get it done only because the leader rarely roused himself to check on such things—that was precisely why he had lieutenants, after all. If Kimmuriel did not do it, he doubted it would ever get done.

The decision to take Nadina with him had warred in the back of his mind while he worked for the last few days. If he were honest with himself, he would admit to not being sure she would be safe if left behind; needless to say, who else would take care of her? It was bad enough that she had access to his personal effects; he did not want another drow in his quarters.

In truth, he could use her help; going into Menzoberranzan was never something safe, and he tried not to draw attention to himself by carrying large amounts of things. She could assist him in that, and with her new drow features, she would blend in, provided she wore drow clothes instead of her human ones. Having a supposedly drow female with him might actually be a boon. But Menzoberranzan was indeed dangerous. Nothing Kimmuriel could not handle, with psionic powers that allowed him to hear an attacker's thoughts before they acted, but he felt a certain responsibility to his charge, and, he was forced to confess to himself, he did not want to see Nadina injured in any way.

More to the point, if she was going to feature in Jarlaxle's plans somehow, she would need to prove trustworthy. Perhaps seeing drow society at its finest would finally convince her that escape was futile, and let her accept her life among them.

Finally, he decided that her usefulness to him would outweigh the risks. Secretly, he hoped she would enjoy it, but that was a thought he barely let flit through the back of his mind. It was only logical, of course, because then she might be more inclined to help them with whatever Jarlaxle had planned—and gave her something to do, a change of pace. So he gathered the things mandatory for the journey and informed Jarlaxle he was leaving in the morning.

Despite knowing he would need to be well rested before the trek to the city, he was unable to will himself to sleep as he usually could, laying on his side of the bed. During the day, when he worked, he hardly noticed Nadina unless she asked him a question or needed a new task, but in the dark his sharp ears picked up on every tiny sound she made as she slept. He turned to face her, watching her despite the darkness, and reached a hand out to smooth back the hair that blocked his view off her face. She had stopped fighting when he went to send her to sleep, he had noticed a few days ago, but he could not fathom what that meant, if it indeed meant anything.

Lost in his thoughts, Kimmuriel slid towards her until they were almost touching and he could stroke a hand through her hair easily, and inhale her clean scent, undeniably feminine yet different from that of any other female he knew. It was uniquely hers, and in the Underdark where she was the only human, even more so, causing it to stand out in his mind all the more sharply. Odd, he had never dwelt on it before, but it was strangely intoxicating. He found the movement relaxing, the silkiness of her hair soothing over his fingers, and he finally drifted off to sleep.

XXXXX

Kimmuriel was still in bed beside her, propped on an elbow, when she woke, and she had to admit she was truly pleased to see him, though slightly wary. She still felt the need to tiptoe around him whenever he was near, as if she were walking on glass, but she had learned that his presence in the morning generally meant a day _not_ spent in his quarters, and that she welcomed. He sat watching her thoughtfully for a moment, and she wondered if he was reading her mind again, before firmly reminding herself that he was _always_ reading her mind and promptly blushing in embarrassment.

For a split second an emotion flitted across his face, perhaps a twitch in the corner of his mouth, then it was gone, and he turned away and slipped out of the bed.

"Today I have to go into Menzoberranzan," he said as he reached for the clothes he had retrieved from the stores the night before, and Nadina started thought at the mention of the drow city. That was the last thing she expected him to say. She was suddenly filled with hope that his telling her was a precursor to inviting her to come with him—she caught herself, he wouldn't invite her, he'd just order her to—but she quickly squashed the hope so she wouldn't be disappointed when he was only informing her that he was leaving, and leaving her behind. He turned back to face her, a folded pile of dark clothes in his hands, and she held her breath.

"I need you to come with me," he said, approaching her, and she couldn't help the thrill of excitement that ran her. Honestly she wasn't sure why she was excited; she knew absolutely nothing of the drow city, but it was something new, and fresh on the heels of her lamenting that she had never gotten to travel. Briefly she wondered if that was a coincidence, but quickly pushed the thought aside, studying the pile of clothing as he came to stop in front of her.

"You must wear these," he continued. "While you appear drow now, your clothes do not. Bregan D'aerthe is well known and respected in the city, but also both feared and hated. We must appear in control and offer no signs of weakness."

She was too excited at the prospect for even the reminder of her new drow looks to upset her, and reached for them. Kimmuriel did not release the clothes once she took hold of them, however, and she paused, which was his intent.

"The drow cities are dangerous places. You must do _exactly_ as I say at all times. Do you understand?" His voice had taken on a very firm undertone, and she felt a first wave of nerves awash in her stomach, though she fought hard to hide it. More importantly, a flash of annoyance at being treated like a child ran through her.

"Yes," she said simply, glancing up at him for a moment and then back down, her face reddening as she realized he was watching her intently, and her natural defense of covering her more revealing emotions with anger took over. "But I've been trained to fight, and I'm not afraid of danger. If you would let me carry a dagger—"

He cut her off harshly, one hand grabbing her wrist. "Do you not remember how easily you were disarmed during the attack on your palace? You were trained for short fights, against men, with surprise on your side. These are drow we will walk among, not men, and you would not stand a chance."

He released her and she jerked her hand away along with the clothes, her teeth gritted in anger but unable to refute his argument, to her shame. Because he was _right_. All of her training, all her life, had come down to a single moment, and she had utterly failed. And there was nothing she could do but watch his back retreat, glaring daggers, and feel helpless in a way she never had before. His superiority was infuriating, she snarled as she turned away, hoping for once that he was listening to her thoughts. Then she was confronted with the shelves of books in front of her, and was again reminded of how far above and beyond her he _was_, and that his superiority infuriated her so much because it was _true_.

Severely chastened, she quickly dressed in the clothes he'd given her. They were clearly of drow make, and fit her like a glove without restricting her movement. A black sleeveless undershirt was covered by a purple-tinted sleeveless dress which hung past her knees, exposing her bare arms, and Bregan D'aerthe's crest was clearly displayed above her left breast. The skirt was incredibly thin and slit in two places, down the front of each leg, and she was grateful to pull on the thin breeches he also provided, because it did _not_ cover her adequately. In fact, the top was cut rather lower than she would have preferred.

Kimmuriel, ignored behind her, was privy to her thoughts as he put on his own clothes and quite pleased that she had backed down so quickly. And he felt a thrill of excitement which stirred his loins: she had recognized him as her better. This was something that no drow female had ever done, and he had to swallow hard to dispel his growing arousal at the thought of being domineering. He forcefully reminded himself that she was a human, and his kind _was_ superior to hers. But perhaps that was why Jarlaxle sought human women himself. It certainly was a new view of the other drow's behavior, something he had never considered before. _Ibilith_ or not, he could see the appeal in that.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things; he had much to accomplish before Narbondel burned too high, and he exercised his perfect control and focused his mind at the situation at hand.

He turned to find her ready and paused, Narbondel burning higher or not. When he had selected the clothes for her from the stores the evening before, he had only been thinking of what one would expect a drow female of her ilk to wear, and what size would fit her best. Never had the thought of what she would look like crossed his mind.

Without her human clothes, all reminders that she was _ibilith_ were gone. He saw a drow woman before him, a drow woman, as he had just mused, under _his_ command. The clothes followed the line of her body very closely and gave her a very graceful air. He had to admit, as heat stirred in his gut again, she was undoubtedly attractive. And that was good, there would be no doubt to anyone he had to bargain with that she was a drow female, and the reputation that went with those words should be enough to ensure their gambit was uneventful. Then she took a few steps towards him, and he frowned as her hair moved, exposing her rounded human ears. He'd anticipated this too, and picked up a thin black headband from the table, beckoning her closer, fiercely battling back his lust. It was not a battle he was accustomed to waging, having mastered control of his body a long time ago.

Then again, his body had been sated back then.

Nadina did as he beckoned, bowing her head slightly so he could settle it on her forehead and over the tops of her ears, covering them, a bit embarrassed by the low cut of her top. Kimmuriel was not able to resist running his fingers through her silky hair as he finished, but he was quite confident she had passed it off as ensuring her ears would not be exposed Then he stepped back, her disguise complete.

"Must it be so...low?" she asked uncomfortably, fiddling with her hands. He glanced back at her and noted that she was running the fingers of her right hand over the white tattoo lines on her left and wondered if she realized it. His eyes dropped to her chest as she gestured, and he was amused by her blush.

"That is how drow women dress," he said dismissively, and heard her soft sigh in acceptance.

He himself turned to don more armor than the scant amount he usually wore. He lifted his shoulder pauldrons from their rack and went to slide them over his head. He had barely begun to fasten the buckles when he heard a footfall as Nadina stepped up behind him and her nimble fingers assisted. He paused for a moment at the unexpected gesture, but her movements were sure and he realized she must have had a bit of training in this regard as well, and he had no desire for her to move away from him anyway. He fairly imagined he could feel the heat from her body, though he admonished himself for such ridiculous thoughts. She was being useful, and speeding up the process.

After slipping on his breastplate, he sat down and guided vambraces over both his forearms and lower legs, and she moved around in front of him to kneel and tighten the leg braces while he attended to his arms. Feigning concentration on his task, he could not resist glancing down at her or ignore the pounding of his heart as she knelt in front of him, completely submissive, and it was hard to tear his mind away from those thoughts and run through his list of items to retrieve.

He carried no visible weapons, more than confident in his psionic abilities. Picking up the two thick black cloaks and a pair of satchels from the table, he passed a pair to her on the way out the door and led her down the hallway.

* * *

**AN:** I did a lot of research, so hopefully most of the Underdark and Bregan D'aerthe and drow, etc. facts are correct, but if you notice something incorrect, please tell me! Also, I would like to incorporate other characters of Bregan D'aerthe in this fic (because I'm beginning to get a little bored of only Kimmuriel, Nadina, and sometimes Jarlaxle, and if I am, you must be) such as Rai-guy Bondalek or Berg'inyon Baerne, or anyone you guys would like to see! Please let me know.


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